


The Future of a King

by Maltheniel



Series: The Once and Future King [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Albion is finally formed, Arthur's son narrates what happened after his death, Canon except for the last shot of Merlin alone, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Gen, Repairing Relationships, the Future of Once and Future shows up earlier than expected
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:35:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 44,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24553993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maltheniel/pseuds/Maltheniel
Summary: I never knew my father. My mother the queen says I have his eyes, and she and my Uncle Merlin never tire of telling me stories of him, but until the Saxons started threatening I never knew him.Everything changed then.Uncle Merlin always called Father the Once and Future King, but even he never thought the Future was coming that soon.Or, when would Arthur's skills be the most useful? Sometime later in his own era, that's when. When should Arthur come back? Sometime when his skills are most useful.Or, a mostly canon-compliant fix-it for the end of Merlin.
Relationships: Freya/Merlin (Merlin), Gwen & Merlin (Merlin), Gwen/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin and Amhar (Arthur's son)
Series: The Once and Future King [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1774627
Comments: 55
Kudos: 116





	1. Tales of the King

**Author's Note:**

> This is the main body of this series, which I'm posting here as well as on ff.net, since I prefer this site nowadays. It was written a couple years ago, but if anyone finds it interesting, I'll be thrilled.
> 
> As always, if I owned Merlin, the series would have had a happy ending. Reviews will be loved!

I had never known my father.

My mother, Queen Guinevere of Camelot, tells me that his name was Arthur, and that he died before I was born. She named me Amhar, but sometimes, in private, she calls me Little Arthur with a fond look in her eyes.

Uncle Merlin has never called me that. He calls me Little Dragon as often as he calls me by my name, or he did until I grew old enough to protest the little. He still calls me Dragon. Some days I think he does it on purpose because he knows it rather annoys me.

Neither Mother nor Uncle Merlin ever tire of telling me stories about Father. As far back as I can remember, Mother’s bedtime stories were all of my brave, noble father, King Arthur of Camelot. Sometimes she tells me about her brother, Elyan, who was a great knight, or her father, Tom, the blacksmith, but mostly she tells me about Father.

Mother’s stories of him and Uncle Merlin’s are different. Mother usually calls him “your father;” Uncle Merlin almost always calls him “Arthur.” Mother tells me about a king who was brave and fearless in the face of danger, who was unafraid to love a serving maid. Uncle Merlin’s stories involve magic and often sound more like my imagination than reality, but he also tells me about a king whom he served with his life, who was a prat and slowly learned to listen, who would do anything for his people.

Between the two of them, and the tidbits Uncle Leon and Uncle Percival tell me at random times, I slowly piece together the picture of who my father was.

Uncle Merlin never told me stories about my father until I was several winters old. He would tell me random tidbits, but he never gave long stories like Mother did. Without meaning to, I nearly walked in on an argument between him and Mother one night.

“You have to tell him about Arthur!” Mother said fiercely. I could hear her voice from where I froze in the hall when I first caught the sound of raised voices. “You knew him better and longer than any of the rest of us, and Amhar deserves to know everything there is to know about him.”

“I know that, Gwen,” Merlin retorted. “I know. But I never told the truth of my stories to Arthur.”

There was a hushed silence; then, “He deserved to know first,” Merlin said, so very quietly I could barely understand.

Mother’s voice, when she spoke next, was very gentle and sad. “I wish there had been time for him to know,” she said, “but maybe in telling Amhar you can finally tell the truth?”

I couldn’t understand, and I was bored, and clearly neither Mother nor Uncle Merlin had time for me right then, so I wandered off to find Uncle Leon.

The next night, though, Uncle Merlin came to my room with Mother when it was storytime. He sat by the fireplace and looked me in the eyes they say I inherited from my father.

“Do you want to hear a story about your father?” he asked. His voice was quiet, and his eyes were shining strangely, but my father is my hero and I always loved hearing about him.

“’Course!” I lisped eagerly. Uncle Merlin drew a long, long breath. “Arthur,” he began, “is the Once and Future King.”


	2. Child of Councils

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we continue with Amhar's childhood and get a glimpse of Gwen as Queen.

I grew up in the council room. Uncle Merlin says that when I was a baby, Mother carried me everywhere with her, even to all her meetings. That didn’t stop when I began getting a bit older. I dimly remember sitting on the train of my mother’s dress as a toddler, listening to the comforting hum of familiar voices over my head as my mother and uncles (and sometimes other people) discussed things I paid no attention to. I would be playing with a collection of toys, and whenever I would get bored one of them would unexpectedly move – would pounce on me or slip away and lead me on a chase after it or jump from hand to hand without my doing anything. If any of the adults talking were annoyed by my childish squeals of pleasure, they had the good sense never to mention it.

Even more dimly, I remember catching a faint glimpse of gold in Uncle Merlin’s eyes. It would be a long time before I would look back on those memories and realize that Uncle Merlin had been keeping as close an eye on me as Mother ever did, and that he was good at enchanting toys to keep me from boredom. I thought they moved randomly on their own for years.

But I think Mother knew he was doing it, too.

* * *

When I was old enough to get a tutor, that annoying man and Mother made me bring my homework to the council meetings instead of toys. The first time I was decidedly sulky about it, and sat at my new desk a bit back from the table glaring at the papers I was supposed to be practicing letters on. Uncle Merlin, of course, was sitting where he could see me, and suddenly my quill rose up and wrote a whole row of practice letters across the top of the page.

I glared at Merlin, but he wasn’t looking at me then at all. The quill, however, inked itself and hovered in front of me. Wanting nothing more than to snap it in half, I snatched it up and began copying letters.

Some of Uncle Merlin’s letters, though, were like no letters I had seen before, all fancy swirls and complicated lines, and they were fun to copy. Uncle Merlin kept stealing my quill and writing new rows of letters, both ordinary and fascinating, for me to copy throughout the meeting), When I showed my tutor my work later, he stared at it blankly and declared that this wasn’t the work he had set me at all.

“I know!” I said gleefully. “But what are all these strange letters?”

My tutor rubbed his forehead tiredly (it was something he did pretty often, considering that I was a very impatient student). “I’m not sure I recognize them,” he told me. “They can only be the letters of the language of spells.”

As soon as my tutor let me go, I was in Uncle Merlin’s chambers, begging him to teach me how to write his letters.

* * *

I was frustrated. I was old enough to be on the council and help decide what was going on – I was! Yet here I sat at my desk across the room, supposed to be writing a summary of a chapter of boring history.

“This is wretched,” I wrote on my parchment instead. “I’m old enough to help out!”

I jumped when my quill wrenched itself from my hand and wrote a sentence across the page in the flowing old language Uncle Merlin had taught me. “Those old enough to truly help do not sit griping in corners because they cannot.”

It sounded like something he said when he looked like he was trying to be wise but wound up making me laugh instead. This time I grinned in spite of myself – then something suddenly occurred to me, and I dashed out a line in the old language. “How did you know what I was writing from over there!?”

There was no change in the way Uncle Merlin was sitting, but the letters that the quill inked across my page had a decidedly smug look to them. “I have very far-seeing eyes, young prince. You would be wise to remember that.”

I knew Merlin was using magic somehow, because there was no way anyone could see my paper from the angle he was at. “You’re cheating! You’re using magic,” I wrote.

“Using magic is not cheating,” the quill wrote back. It inked the word “not” twice.

I huffed and dragged my history book dully toward me, unable to think of a really good comeback to that. A moment later, though, to my surprise, the quill began writing again, this time in ordinary letters.

“I’d take history over this council meeting, Little Dragon. We’re discussing the prices of wheat. Deadly dull.”

My lips twitched, but I promptly wrote back, “This chapter of my book is dull too! It’s all about treaties and negotiations. There’s not even a good battle in it.”

The quill jumped out of my hands almost before I finished the last letter, and wrote Uncle Merlin’s response with an odd intensity. “Battles are not good, young prince. If you are lucky, you will spend your kingship dealing with treaties and negotiations and rarely see a battlefield.”

“But I want to fight!” I wrote back before I realized how whiny it sounded. After all, what was the point of all my training with Leon if I was never going to fight?

“You won’t after you find what it means to kill a man,” the quill wrote back sharply, this time in the old language. And at the table, Uncle Merlin shifted, resting his face on his hand and half-covering his eyes.

That made me feel bad. Usually I could prod and tease with Uncle Merlin, but there were moments like this that flashed out and I remembered that he was broken, that there were things in his past he never told me about for all his storytelling.

“I’m sorry,” I wrote shyly after a long moment.

Uncle Merlin didn’t move, but the quill did, slowly, still in the old language. “In time, I hope, you will come to see that you need to know how to defend your kingdom with your life, but you use every avenue of diplomacy open to you before you declare war. It was a lesson Arthur had to learn as king.”

That sobered me thoroughly, and I nodded earnest agreement and opened my history book with determination to make this summary the best I had ever written. But when I turned back to start writing it, I found that the quill had added another few lines, this time in the usual letters.

“I still think you’re lucky, getting to read history over being in on this boring meeting. Arthur could get bored of meetings very easily. He got me to cover for him a few times, which inevitably ended with me in the stocks. But that was mostly when he was besotted with Sophia . . ."

I chuckled at this without meaning to, and was rewarded with a glare from some councilmember. But I knew I was forgiven now, and the dots at the end hinted that it will be easy to drag the story from Uncle Merlin sometime later.

* * *

I never figured out for sure how Uncle Merlin can read what I write on my papers, but we have had plenty of conversations with my quill during council meetings. We have a running contest over who can make the other laugh; it isn’t fair, because Uncle Merlin is quite good at not laughing. When I demand why, he simply says, “Try keeping your face straight while serving the king and a prince who is making up a story about a beast with the body of a lion, the wings of an eagle, and the face of a bear.”

Eventually I begin listening in on the meetings, and find myself agreeing with Uncle Merlin – they really can be boring. But it makes me feel like a prince, and some day future king, to add a comment here and there.

It also means that no one, not even Mother, thinks of sending me from the room when the councils discuss dangerous things.

Like when the Saxons begin marching against us.


	3. Of the Lower Town (and Magic)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Camelot of Amhar's childhood is quite different from that of Arthur's.

My mother was very much a queen of the people. I imagine this had to do with the fact that she used to be a servant before she was queen, because her handmaidens were always her friends, and when she walked the hallways she always had time to stop and talk to the servants. And every week she would walk down into the lower town in ordinary dress and chat with and listen to the people. I always went with her – Uncle Merlin told me once that she had been taking me to the lower town with her ever since she was pregnant with me and started making her weekly trip, carrying me in her stomach. Come rain, come shine, Mother never skipped that trip, however busy she might be.

Sometimes I went with her as she talked among the people, but sometimes she dropped me off with friends she trusted and I played with the children of the lower town. There was one day when as I was running around with the village children, two new kids whom I had never seen before edged nervously toward us.

“Hey! Go away!” Braxton called out. He’s something of the town bully – not a bad chap if you get to know him, but on the overbearing side.

“Are they new?” I asked Elfrida. (A bit older than me, daughter of one of the tailors, rather condescending but mostly sweet, always knows everything about everyone.)

“They just came to Camelot a few days ago,” she told me. “Their father says he’s a carpenter, but everyone says he’s a sorcerer.”

“Why wouldn’t that mean he could be a carpenter too?” I asked, confused. Just because Uncle Merlin is court sorcerer doesn’t mean that every magic user winds up with a position like that.

Elfrida seemed stumped by my question, so I turned back to the new children. They were a boy and a girl, clearly brother and sister, and the clothes they wore were more ragged than I was used to seeing, even down here. The other children seemed wary of them, but Mother was always welcoming to visitors and taught me to be too, so I walked over to them.

“Hey,” I said, “I’m Amhar. What’re your names?”

The boy scanned me as though sizing me up, before finally muttering, “I’m Galahad, and this is Anna.”

“Welcome to Camelot,” I said proudly. “We were just playing kick the ball. Want to join?”

The ball was a pig’s bladder one of the boys had wheedled from the butcher, blown up and tough enough to handle the streets. We were playing a rough-and-tumble game of kicking and batting it, usually with the intention of keeping it away from everyone else, and with some coaxing Galahad joined in. He was an eager and enthusiastic player once he got over his shyness, and the other children accepted him readily after I did.

I was about to dive on the ball and corner it for myself when it floated away from under me, leaving me to dive face first into the muddy street. When I rolled over, the ball was in Anna’s hands, and she was examining it thoughtfully.

“Hey! You stole the ball!” I shouted, but Braxton’s voice echoed over mine. “Sorceress!”

I scrambled to my feet, suddenly excited. “You’re a sorceress?” I asked Anna eagerly.

She stared up at me through wide, fearful eyes. The other children were silent behind me. Slowly Anna nodded.

Galahad rushed forward to her side. “We were told that sorcerers were safe in Camelot,” he said quickly, defensively.

“But of course they are!” I exclaimed. “My Uncle Merlin is a sorcerer! What magic do you know?”

Still looking fearful, Anna cupped her hands and whispered something under her breath. Her wide brown eyes, still fixed fearfully on mine, flashed gold for an instant, and a tiny blue butterfly slipped between her fingers and darted out into the world. We all watched it fly for a few moments before it disappeared in a flutter of light.

All the girls gasped at the beauty of the little thing after it vanished, and I think a fair few of the boys did too. I spun back to Anna, my smile stretching my cheeks wide (I know it’s Mother’s smile). “That was beautiful!” I told her, and everyone agreed.

The rest of the afternoon, Galahad and Anna played with us, Galahad racing and wrestling as well as the rest of us boys, and Anna using magic to spirit the ball away at odd times or throw something unexpected in our path. Her laughter was silvery and brilliant, and her magic brought a whole new level to our fun.

It was Uncle Merlin who came to collect me that afternoon – he did it sometimes when Mother got talking or decided to stay and nurse a sick person for a bit. “I met a magic girl today,” I told him eagerly as we walked back to the palace together. “She and her brother moved here just recently. Elfrida says their father’s a sorcerer, so he can’t be a carpenter, but someone can be both, can’t they? And Anna was using her magic all afternoon, and it was the most fun I’ve ever had! I never knew magic could be so much fun!”

I didn’t understand, then, why there were tears in Uncle Merlin’s eyes when I looked up, even though he was smiling.

* * *

Uncle Merlin took on magical apprentices fairly frequently, so I’d seen other magic users besides him over the years. I’d always known that Camelot had become a refuge for those with magic, but I’d never seen it until that day with Anna and Galahad.

Two days after meeting them in the town, I was walking down one of the castle hallways near Uncle Merlin’s quarters when I heard Anna’s silvery voice calling my name. I spun around, and there she was running toward me. Her hair was brushed now, and she was in a much nicer dress.

“Amhar!” she shouted again, and slammed into me for a quick hug.

Girls and hugging. I don’t think I’ll ever get the fascination. But I returned the hug.

“You didn’t tell us you were the prince,” she said breathlessly, when she stepped back.

“But I wasn’t the prince,” I told her. At her confused look, I added, “When Mother and I go down to the lower town, we’re not acting like royalty. Mother says we’re just like ordinary people all the time, but we act like it then. She tells me to remember I’m the son of a servant girl as well as a king.”

Anna was smiling broadly. “I liked you as a common boy,” she told me cheerfully, “but I think I’ll like you as a prince too.”

I smiled back at the compliment. “What are you doing in the castle anyhow?” I asked her.

“Learning magic!” she nearly shouted. “My lord Merlin has taken me as an apprentice! Isn’t it wonderful?”

I was really pleased by that. “Wonderful indeed!” I exclaimed. “You and Galahad must stay and play with me.” There weren’t a lot of children in the castle, and it was lonely at times. “But it’s not my lord Merlin – I can’t even imagine what he’d say if he heard you say that. He’s Uncle Merlin.”

Anna’s face relaxed. “Uncle Merlin,” she said. “That sounds a lot better. You sure he won’t mind my calling him that? Mother says he’s one of the most important men in the kingdom.”

“Course not,” I said firmly. “He’s as ordinary as Mother or I are.”

I walked Anna down to the courtyard, where she said her father was waiting to take her home. “Galahad will be glad to come here sometimes if he can watch the knights train,” she confided in me. “He dreams of being a knight, but he’s just a commoner.”

“Here we knight commoners too,” I said proudly. “Father was the one who started doing that.” And I could tell Uncle Merlin was proud of him for that, so I was too. “Galahad could watch the practices with me,” I suggested generously. “Uncle Leon lets me do that a lot. He says he’ll start training me soon. I’ve already learned how to hold a sword.”

“That sounds very kingly,” Anna said, and since we felt like commoners together, it made us giggle.

“Want to see a spell Uncle Merlin taught me?” Anna asked eagerly.

“Sure,” I said.

She cupped her hand, whispered, and when she opened it, there was a little flame resting in the palm of her hand. I stared at it, fascinated, till it went out. I’d seen Uncle Merlin do this once or twice, but it was always entrancing.

“Are you sure it doesn’t burn you?” I asked. I’d asked Uncle Merlin that before, and he always said, no it didn’t, but don’t touch it because it might burn _you_.

She shook her head, brown plaits bouncing. “But it would be really handy for lighting Mother’s cooking fire!” she said. “We won’t need flint and steel now.”

There were two lasting outcomes of that conversation. One was that Galahad started coming up to practices, and he and Anna became my closest friends growing up. Uncle Leon taught Galahad how to fight along with his son Kay and me, and I timed my days when Anna was up at the castle so I could walk her from Uncle Merlin’s quarters to the courtyard where her father waited, and she showed me whatever magic she had learned that day on the way. It never ceases to fascinate me.

The other was that all Merlin’s apprentices started calling him Uncle Merlin. They still do that to this day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'll be posting a chapter a day for this story until I get it copied over. :)


	4. Camelot, Magic, and Merlin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Amhar gets to ride a dragon and does some thinking about magic.

It is a fact that I’ve known since I was old enough to know any history at all that under my grandfather Uther magic was banned in Camelot.

I’ve known since I was old enough to know anything at all that Uncle Merlin has magic.

It took me an embarrassingly long time, though, to realize that those two facts together meant that Uncle Merlin being who he is was illegal under my grandfather.

* * *

Magic has been legal in Camelot for as long as I can remember. There are plenty of magic users among the guards nowadays, and several among the knights. If you go into the lower town, there are multiple magical peddlers selling goods from the useful to the outright ridiculous, from protection charms to flowers charmed to turn into butterflies when you give them to your girlfriend and say, “I love you.” A few of the druids have decided to settle in Camelot; the majority of them are still wanderers, but there enough around that seeing a druid tattoo is a fairly common appearance. And there is Anna, who was my first friend with magic, but who is most certainly not the last.

There are also plenty of healer’s houses where the healers use magic to speed cures or cure the incurable. Uncle Percival says that life expectancy is longer since healers started being able to use magic, and since it’s Uncle Percival who said it, I believe him. The first man to open a house of healing in Camelot was Gilli, who is Uncle Merlin’s closest wizard friend. Once Uncle Merlin took me to Gilli’s to be healed of a scratch that had become infected. “I’m not very good at healing,” he told me. “But Gilli has gotten a lot better at it since the days when he used to scorch walls when he used it. Isn’t that right?”

He said this last with a laughing glance at Gilli, who gave him a friendly glare. “Much better, I’ll have you know,” he said. “You don’t see scorches covering the walls here, do you?” And with that he put his hand on my shoulder, and as his eyes flashed gold, a wave of heat swept through me. When I pulled up my sleeve, the cut was barely a line on my arm.

“That’s awesome!” I shouted – magic always intrigued me, and this was really cool magic. “Why can’t we do this for every cut I get?”

Gilli chuckled. “We healers would get run into the ground pretty fast if you came to us for every cut,” he told me. “Now get along with you, princeling. I have work to be doing.”

* * *

Almost all the magic I have ever seen is fun or useful. I know there are dangerous sides to magic, though, and part of Uncle Merlin’s job as court sorcerer is to deal with those things. Part of Uncle Merlin’s job as Court Sorcerer is to take care of dangerous magical beasts or sorcerers. Whenever someone comes to court with a complaint about them, Merlin is sure to vanish for a few days shortly thereafter. Mother can sometimes convince him to take Uncle Leon or Percival along, but mostly he goes by himself. Mostly he comes back in fairly short order and tells Mother that everything is alright; occasionally this gets spun into new and exciting stories for me. There are times, though, when he comes back wounded. Mother confines him to his room then and hovers over him worriedly, and I tend to hang around in his chambers and keep him entertained until he’s on his feet again. It is the times right after these that he is most likely to take Uncle Leon or Percival along, in a concession to Mother’s worry over him.

* * *

We have our own dragon in Camelot. Aithusa is Uncle Merlin’s dragon, and she flies in and out of Camelot quite frequently. She is a beautiful white dragon with light blue eyes now, and quite affectionate if you manage to make friends with her, but she is also quite shy and skittish for being such a large and powerful creature. She never talks aloud, but Merlin rarely tires of interpreting what she says in his mind for her.

She is terrifying to fly on, though. Terrifying and exhilarating.

I took my first dragon flight at the age of six after having begged and nagged and begged some more until Uncle Merlin was absolutely sick of my begging and convinced my very skeptical mother to let me take a short flight. He was of the opinion, I think, that he should never have told me he had flown on Kilgharrah, the old Great Dragon who died when I was too young to remember him, because I started pleading to fly on a dragon the next minute and didn't let up. In the end, the next time Aithusa came to the citadel, Uncle Merlin took me with him to meet her in the courtyard.

“Amhar wants to fly you,” he told her, one arm around my shoulders, other hand on her face. “So you are to fly very slowly and as gently as you can manage it, and you are not to gain such a great height that he will be badly damaged if he falls – oh, don’t tell me that you don’t know enough about the internal structure of earthlings to understand that! I’ll tell you if you’re getting too high. And –”

He went on in a very long list of safety precautions, but I had stopped listening, trying to imagine what the flight would be like instead.

“And Amhar,” the lecture turned suddenly to me and I had to pay attention. “You are to hold on to me and let me hold on to you, and don’t lean too far forward, and don’t tell Aithusa to go higher, and try not to startle her with yelling, and – and basically don’t do anything that will make me -- and you! -- afraid to see your mother afterwards.”

I had a wide, silly grin on my face. “I promise, Uncle Merlin! I promise!” I shouted. “Now let’s go!”

Uncle Merlin sighed deeply, but Aithusa lowered her wings, and I could tell by her face she was eager for this too. Merlin settled himself carefully astride her, and I patted her side as he pulled me up and settled me in front of him, one arm very securely around my waist.

“Do try not to fall off, Amhar,” he told me. “Gently, Aithusa.”

The dragon sprang to the air with quick flapping of her wings, and I was tossed up and down and shrieked with an odd mixture of fear and delight. But Uncle Merlin’s arm was secure around me, and I trusted him utterly, and besides, this was really exciting!

Aithusa’s flying leveled out when we cleared the city walls. To my disappointment, Uncle Merlin did not let her fly high enough that I could touch a cloud, but we did clear the treetops for a while. I was whooping, arms spread wide; the wind was sharp in my face, blowing my dark curls back, and I blinked to see against it. I could see for miles – I thought the view was even better than the one you can get from the towers of Camelot, and it was changing every minute.

Best of all, though, I was flying – I was in the air like a bird, soaring weightlessly through the sky. I shouted my triumph to the skies.

When Aithusa finally landed in the Camelot courtyard again, I was breathless from shouting and laughing – and very impatient to go again.

Mother was standing on the steps when we got off, and she swept me into a hug as soon as I got close to her.

“You’re safe, Amhar,” she breathed.

But I had never doubted I wouldn’t be safe. “Of course I am!” I chirped. “Mother, you should come sometime! The wind is strong and you can see so far – and it’s flying!” There was no other way to sum it up.

Mother glanced at Uncle Merlin; he shrugged and smiled.

“It was fun,” he admitted, and then at Mother’s glare he added quickly, “Aithusa is a good flyer. I was never worried about his safety.” He patted the dragon’s head, and she beamed.

* * *

Uncle Merlin never lets me fly alone, but he’s taken me flying fairly often since then. I’m afraid that flight didn’t do anything to stop my begging; I just started begging for more flights. Aithusa was happy to grant them, but it took us a while to get Mother to trust I was safe. I finally managed to convince her to fly once; she wasn’t as reluctant about me going thereafter but stated firmly she was going to keep her feet on the ground for the rest of her life.

One morning a couple of months after I met Anna and Galahad, I came down into the courtyard to find Aithusa there and Uncle Merlin talking to her. The moment Anna and Galahad appeared that afternoon, I raced to meet them.

“Aithusa’s come!” I shouted. “The dragon! You can ride her with me!”

It took me longer than I expected to convince them that there was actually a live dragon about the castle – I’d forgotten they weren’t from Camelot originally, and it took me tracking down Aithusa (she was on top of one of the towers) and showing her off to them before they would believe me. Anna seemed eager to fly, even if she sounded rather nervous about it, but I was astonished at how long it took me to convince Galahad that flying a dragon was not an utterly crazy, irrational idea, as he first termed it. Aithusa listened to our discussion with an insufferable amount of smug amusement on her face.

When I had finally convinced the two of them, I dragged them off to Uncle Merlin’s quarters.

“Here you are, Anna,” he said as we burst through the door. “I was beginning to wonder –” He glanced up from the book he was looking at and suddenly looked rather weary as he stared at us. “Oh no,” he said. “I know that face, Amhar. I’m not going to like what’s coming, am I?”

“Anna and Galahad want to ride Aithusa!” I told him eagerly. “Come on!”

Uncle Merlin ran a hand down his face. “I was right,” he commented, mostly to himself. “I don’t like this at all.”

By the time I had convinced him to ask Anna and Galahad’s parents if he could take them for a dragon flight (“I am _not_ going to tell them their children died flying a dragon they didn’t even know existed!”), I was getting very tired of convincing people my idea was a good one. I was also wondering why no one but me seemed to see its brilliance. I complained about that to Mother that night.

“Darling,” she said, smiling, “not everyone shares your enthusiasm for dragon flights.”

But it all worked out in the end. Uncle Merlin refused to take all three of us at once, saying that was too many squirming children to look after and it might overload the dragon, but he took first me and Galahad, and then me and Anna.

Galahad didn’t like flying at all; in fact, he was quite green by the time our short flight ended. “You’re beautiful,” he told Aithusa, “but I never want to feel the ground fall away like that again.”

Anna, on the other hand, shouted eagerly at the first rush of wind in her face, and watched the world intently with a very wide smile on her face as we flew. To my relief, we didn’t have to shorten her flight.

She didn’t catch my undying enthusiasm for riding on a dragon, but she liked it quite a bit. Enough that I had a partner to help me badger Uncle Merlin into giving me even more flights thereafter.

“I declare,” he said once, “there are days I regret you ever met Aithusa or Anna.” But his eyes were dancing as he said it, and I knew he didn’t really mind at all.

* * *

But amid all this magic, Uncle Merlin is decidedly hesitant to use magic.

It took me a long time to realize this, too, but he never uses magic freely if there is anyone besides me and my mother, and sometimes Uncles Percival and Leon, in the room. The only people besides our little group that he seems comfortable doing magic in front of are his apprentices or other sorcerers; around them he will relax and the magic will flow from him. That's one of the reasons I enjoy sitting in on his lessons whenever I get the time, apart from the draws of learning about the magic that frankly fascinates me and spending time with Uncle Merlin. He never minds me sitting in.

Around me, he uses it freely; when he tells me stories he often illustrates them in the flames in the fireplace. He’s very good at making magical beasts appear in the coals to illustrate whatever it is he’s talking about.

No matter how I beg, though, he will never make a dragon in the fire.

He uses magic to help tidy my chambers too, if I really beg him to, and once or twice he’s straightened out my childish sketches with his magic to make them really beautiful drawings, and he never tires of animating my toys. To me, Uncle Merlin is magic and magic is Uncle Merlin, and he’s never shy of using it around me.

If there is anyone else in the room, though, even if it’s just Mother, he tends to glance their direction as though for permission before he does anything, and the more people there are in the room, the less he does magic. If we’re in a larger group, like if he and I are toying with my quill during a council meeting, he will lower his eyes or shade them with his hand to hide the gold they turn.

Of course, being Court Sorcerer of Camelot, he sometimes has to perform displays of magic for grand feasts, but when I got older I realized that he tends to be tense and on edge when he does this, as though some part of him is screaming at him that it’s not right. Ever since I realized that, the showers of flowers or the candle flames turning different colors seem less something to be reveled in than they did when I was a young child.

I once asked him why he’s so hesitant about performing magic when there’s anyone else in the room.

“Long habit, I guess,” he told me. “I had to keep it secret for a very long time.”

There is a tone in his voice that I’ve learned to identify as the echo of old pain when he speaks.

It is then that I put it together and realize that under my grandfather he would have been illegal.

“You were here when Grandfather reigned, right?” I asked, puzzled, because I knew he was here when Father was a prince by his stories.

“Of course,” he said, and then realizing why I was confused, he added, “That’s why I had to keep it secret. It would have been my death if anyone had known I had it.”

Right. I had forgotten that under Uther the sentence for magic was death.

“But that’s ridiculous!” I exclaimed. “It’s not like you could help having magic.”

Merlin smiled ever so slightly. “Your grandfather,” he said softly, “was blinded by his own pain where magic was concerned. In the process he caused pain to many, many others. I don’t think there’s a magical family today that wasn’t affected in some way by the Great Purge.”

“Were you?” I asked.

“Of course,” he said quietly, but I could tell by his tone that he won’t tell me more.

It hit me, then, that Uncle Merlin still carried the pain my grandfather had caused in him. The Purge had made him afraid of showing his magic plainly.

I asked Anna later if the Purge had affected her. She gave me an odd look, then told me, “My father says his brother had magic and is dead. He won’t tell us anything more than that, except that it is beyond strange that we seek refuge in Camelot now when he fled from it before.”

Strange it may be, but I am so glad that the Purge isn’t around to cause pain any longer. Besides, I could never imagine a Camelot without magic; it’s a part of her now.


	5. Without Arthur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Amhar and those around him grieve Arthur's loss, and Amhar finds surrogate fathers.

I had never had a father. Sometimes I think about the things that would be different if he were here.

I had uncles who would do fatherly things, though. Three of them, to be precise.

If Father were here, he would not only be my father, but also king of Camelot. There are four people who have taken up the mantle of leadership in his absence.

* * *

Uncle Leon is the one who has taught me almost everything I know about fighting. He started training me at a young age, commenting that he had been there when Father learned to fight too. He is a good teacher, patient and thorough and steady, and he said with a smile that he will make me the best fighter in the land like Father was.

When he says, “Well done,” or tells me that he is proud of me, he says it in exactly the same tone he used for his son, Kay.

It is almost like having a father tell me he was proud of me.

Uncle Leon is also Mother’s right-hand man. He is the First Knight and the man she trusts most to advise her correctly and to lead the army. He has always been there for her, his loyalty unquestionable and unshakeable. He is Mother’s rock, the man she can always depend on.

* * *

Uncle Percival is the biggest man I have ever seen, but he is also incredibly gentle. He gave the best piggy back rides; when I was young, my greatest delight was to ride his shoulders around the castle, towering over everybody we saw. He doesn’t say much, but I learned over the years that when he speaks, he is well worth listening to, and he is the only person whose advice I will follow without protest.

I convinced him to spar with me once. I came away from that experience pitying any man who tried taking on Percival in a fight.

Mother relies on Uncle Percival’s advice too. He is second to Uncle Leon in the army, and when Leon is busy, he will take over training me – typically along with Kay and Galahad. The three of us are around the same age and skill level, and we often train together. If both Mother and Uncle Merlin were busy, Uncle Percival was the man I usually sought out when I was young, for he always had time for me and listened to me with the same attention he gave anyone else.

* * *

Mother is the one on whom most of the ruling has fallen, of course, and she has shouldered it with grace, dignity, and a leadership almost everyone will willingly follow. She has always been one of the people, listening to them and trying to be the best queen she can be for them. There are a few stuffy lords who still say because she was a servant she shouldn’t be queen, but their viewpoint is very unpopular.

Somehow Mother has managed to win over the people and lead them well while also being there for me every time I have needed her. She has brought me along with her almost everywhere she goes, being a mother and training me at the same time, but she also spends time with me and is an excellent listener and playmate. Breakfasts have always been our time; only Uncle Merlin can intrude every once in a while.

* * *

Uncle Merlin is Court Sorcerer, of course, and the one who advises Mother on everything magical, although I think she listens to his advice on more than that. He helps her rule the druids, who usually listen only to him, and he is a brother to Mother. I thought they were siblings by blood until I was around six.

Uncle Merlin has also been there for me through the years, teaching me about magic and so much more, there for me alongside Mother every step of the way. Still, there have been days when despite the fact that I have had three wonderful uncles, I feel alone and fatherless, and Uncle Merlin is the only one I have dared talk to about this.

There was one day when I stormed into his quarters, having stewed on the matter until I was furious. “Why did Father leave?” I demanded without stopping for a hello.

Merlin looked up from the parchment he was writing on, looking confused. “That wasn’t really his choice,” he said after a minute.

I slammed the door and threw myself into a chair. “He shouldn’t have left,” I nearly shouted. “Everyone else has fathers to take care of them and play with them! Why don’t I? Why did he leave me?”

Uncle Merlin watched me thoughtfully till I had finished with my rant; then he leaned back and studied the ceiling. “Did I ever tell you,” he said quietly, “that I never knew my father growing up?”

“No,” I said, interested in spite of myself; he had never told me much of anything about his father.

“I wondered what you wonder at times,” Merlin told me quietly. “Why he would have left my mother and me, if he cared for me at all. My mother never told me anything about him; I didn’t learn until I was older than you who he was, even.”

I was absorbed in the story; Uncle Merlin shifted forward, though he didn’t meet my eyes. “Eventually I learned that he was a Dragonlord – you know the story. Camelot needed him, so Arthur and I went to find him. I’d never been told who he was because he was a hunted fugitive, and he hadn’t even known he had a son.”

“What happened after that?” I asked softly. Uncle Merlin had never really explained that well.

“I knew him for two days,” he told me quietly, “and he acknowledged me as his son. Then he died defending me.”

There was silence for a moment; Merlin was running his fingers along the small carving of a dragon he always kept on his desk. He finally looked up at me.

“I know how it feels,” he said gently, “to be fatherless and to be angry at your father for leaving you alone. But your father had no choice, not even as much as mine did. And he would have loved you if he had lived – never doubt that, Little Dragon.”

For some reason I had tears in my eyes by the time he finished, and I flew across the room to give him a hug.

In the absence of King Arthur, it is Uncle Merlin who has been a father to me most.

* * *

There is a time of year that when I was a small child, I began referring to as the sad time; I’ve never bothered giving it a more technical title. It is the time of year when all four of the people important in my life become quiet and sorrowful. Mother told me when I was quite young that it is the time of year when my father died.

When I was young, I typically spent most of this time with Uncle Percival. He said even less than usual during this time, but since he’s rather quiet anyway, he seemed the least affected. It was only when I got older that I recognized the distant, haunted look he gets around this time and realized that in his own quiet way, he was grieving too.

Uncle Leon tends to disappear from the palace around this time; unless Mother needs him for something he goes home and spends those days with his family. I think being around the people he loves most is really necessary to him then.

Mother still grieves Father during this time. The rest of the year, she is strong, always moving forward, often honoring Father in her speeches with a proud gleam in her eye and no hint of tears. This is the time of year she lets herself wander the places she spent time with him, hold the ring he gave her, and remember him as the man she loved and not as a king. This is the time of year she lets herself cry.

I always feel somewhat strange at this time, because though my father’s being gone has left a large hole in my life, I never knew him, and I can’t grieve the man I lost like those around me can. Grieving the hole in my life he would have filled had he lived feels very selfish when those around me are grieving wounds torn in their lives by his passing. But Mother seems to derive comfort from having me close, being able to hug and touch me and know that I am here, that I am her legacy from Father and I am not leaving. Sometimes during these days I feel like Mother only sees me as her last bit of Father, but she has always tried to make it clear that I am more than that – but that I am all the family she has left, except for Uncle Merlin, and she needs me close.

Mother and Uncle Merlin tend to spend some of these days close to each other, sharing memories at times or just being there for each other, but Uncle Merlin has his own way of grieving. He shines Father’s old chambers, deserted for years now, until they gleam with cleanliness; he doesn’t smile; and he has a tendency to disappear more than usual.

One year, Aithusa flew in during this time. She tends to disappear from Camelot during these days, but this year I saw her flying toward the roof, which was where she always landed until she got so big Mother was afraid of her shattering the towers if she continued to do that. I was young enough at the time that my thoughts instantly leapt to flying her, so I hurried toward the turrets as fast as my short legs could carry me. Breathless and eager, I emerged to find Uncle Merlin standing by Aithusa, his face so solemn that I stopped short. Aithusa almost seemed to be cringing before him.

“You can stop apologizing every year, Aithusa,” he said softly. “I don’t blame you.”

After a moment in which she clearly replied, he burst out, sounding exasperated, “If I’m to blame you for the mistakes you made, then I have to blame myself ten times more, and Gwen has been trying to get me to stop doing that for years!” He ran a tired hand down his face. “Look, Aithusa,” he said more gently, “I failed you when I should have been there for you, and you were lost and broken. I don’t blame you for what you did.”

She must have said something along the lines that he shouldn’t blame himself either, for he sighed tiredly. “I made so many mistakes,” he said softly. “There are days when I think that I singlehandedly managed to create both of Arthur’s worst enemies. If only I had talked to Morgana, if only I hadn’t automatically turned on Mordred – Aithusa, I’ve spent years blaming myself for everything that happened. I’d really rather not remember it all now. Just – I’ve forgiven you completely, alright? I don’t blame you.”

Aithusa nuzzled into him, looking both pitiful and relieved, and I turned away from the tower. Clearly this was not the time for a flight, but I tried to put the conversation from my mind. I really didn’t want to know what either Aithusa or Uncle Merlin blamed themselves for.

This time of year doesn’t particularly affect anyone but the five of us, though. The ways my mother and uncles grieve my father are subtle enough that only if you’re me do you really see them. They go on running the kingdom as usual, and if they take a little more time to be by themselves than a typical week, I don’t think anyone else notices, though I’m guessing the people of the lower town know that Mother only goes back to the house that used to be hers only one week in the year.

* * *

The last time this season of grieving happened, I was old enough to be very curious and adventuresome, so when Uncle Merlin disappeared in the late afternoon as he does every so often, I followed him.

He rode through the woods to a lake, arriving there shortly before twilight. I’d never been to the lake before, but it was a lovely spot, the lake ranged by mountains and trees and a dense bed of strawberry bushes, the ripples across the surface shimmering in the dusky light. Uncle Merlin dismounted, tied his horse, and walked to stand on the shore.

“You can come out, Amhar,” he said suddenly, startling me. “I know you’re there.”

Sheepishly I dismounted and emerged from the trees. “How did you know I was there?” I asked petulantly.

Merlin chuckled and sat down by the water’s edge. “I could tell I was being followed,” he said, “and your Camelot red cloak isn’t really made for concealment. It wasn’t hard to catch a glimpse of you.”

I felt very foolish, and the way Uncle Merlin was looking at the water, as if I had intruded on something sacred. “Do – do you want me to go?” I faltered.

He did not bother looking at me. “I don’t mind if you stay,” he said.

I could tell by his tone that he actually wanted me there, so I sat down crosslegged beside him. We sat in silence for a long time as the dusk deepened toward night; Uncle Merlin ran his fingertips through the waves. The longer I sat there, the more I felt that the lake was very peaceful and heartbreakingly sad all at once.

“I laid Arthur to rest here,” Uncle Merlin said suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice made me jump, but he didn’t seem to notice, and I listened attentively; he had told me very little of my father’s last days. “I’d tried everything I could to reach this place when he was still alive so the Sidhe could save him.” His words were slow and quiet, and he scarcely seemed to be talking to me at all. “I could only send him into the lake and say goodbye. Like I buried Freya, and Lancelot. But that time it seemed to me that I buried every dream and hope I’d ever had with Arthur.”

I wanted to say something, to say that Father’s death hadn’t been the end and we could still be happy, but Merlin was lost in his memories, his eyes dark with pain, and I couldn’t say anything that trite to him. I hugged my legs to me, shivering.

The lake was nearly dark by the time Uncle Merlin spoke again; this time he turned a bit and directed his words to me. “Excalibur rests here too,” he said softly. “It was meant to be Arthur’s sword all along, and no one else should use it now. I put it here after it was first forged.”

I knew that story – the one of the undead knight and Uncle Merlin making a sword so Father could fight him until Grandfather took his place instead. It was one of the stories where I could acknowledge the grandfather I often nearly hated for his blindness had acted nobly.

“Freya gave it back to me,” Merlin whispered, more to the lake than me. “And after that I placed it in the stone. I wonder if Arthur will bring it with him when he returns, or if I’ll have to find another way. I really don’t want to have to swim out and find it.”

I knew by now that Uncle Merlin was really lost in his memories, because he had mentioned Freya twice when usually he didn’t speak of her at all. I knew she was the girl he had loved and lost and that she was now the Lady of the Lake, but that was all. A part of me felt that I had no right to be here, listening to Uncle Merlin’s quiet memories, but another part of me felt that it was right to be here, remembering Father with the man who had known him best, honoring him quietly in the dusk of the day by the lake where he had been laid to rest.

The comment about swimming had evidently made Uncle Merlin remember something else; he chuckled just a bit and shifted to face me.

“The first time I ever saw this lake was when Arthur was getting enchanted by the Sidhe girl Sophia,” he remarked.

“I remember that story,” I said quietly. “Where the Sidhe wanted to sacrifice him and you had to rescue him from drowning.”

“As usual,” Uncle Merlin remarked lightly. “The water is very cold if you decide to take a swim in it.” He turned to look over the lake. “I was afraid he would die that day – it was a long time before I found him. In retrospect, though, his announcement to his father that he was going to get married to a girl he’d just met was rather funny. I don’t think the king believed him at all.”

“I can’t picture him with anyone other than Mother,” I replied, finding that image disturbing.

“Your mother was the only girl he ever really loved,” Uncle Merlin told me quietly. He hesitated a moment, then added, more to himself than me, “That was the first time I realized Morgana was a seer. I still wish . . ." His voice trailed away, and he fell silent.

He never talked about Morgana either. Mother sometimes tells me stories of the days when she was a good and noble lady and Mother served her, but Merlin can never hear her name without looking away.

“Your Uncle Elyan was buried here too,” he added after a long moment. “He got an honorable funeral with everyone there in respect – and he deserved it too.”

I could only nod. And we sat there in the silence, the soft lapping of the waves on the shore the only sound, as night fell completely and the stars were reflected blurrily in the lake’s surface.

Suddenly the sound of a horse’s hooves broke the stillness. I leapt to my feet, my hand going to the hilt of the sword I wore whenever I left Camelot, but Uncle Merlin did not seem the least perturbed. He stayed where he was until the horse had come up to us, even as the rider dismounted and tied the new horse with ours. Only when the stranger came out of the trees did I recognize her as the queen.

“Mother!” I exclaimed, shocked.

She gave me a tired hint of a smile and put her arm around me briefly. “I should have known you’d sneak off here,” she murmured.

Uncle Merlin had stood up now. With a brief glance at Mother, he held out his hands, and his eyes shone gold in the darkness. Three pieces of wood flew out of the forest and shaped themselves into rough, tiny boats in his hands. In complete silence he handed one to Mother and one to me.

As Mother and Merlin moved to the lake shore in quiet synchronization, I realized that this was nowhere near the first time they had done this. They must have had this quiet ceremony on the night of the anniversary of Father’s death for years. Now I, who had no memory of him to tell, like diving into the lake to save him, was here at this ritual, and again I felt like an outsider.

But Uncle Merlin glanced at me, and with a quick motion of his head indicated that I should join them. And after all, even if I didn’t remember Father, I was his son, and I had the right to honor his memory too. With sudden decision I stepped to the lakeside, knelt by Mother, and set my boat in the water like Mother and Uncle Merlin had.

Mother, I realized suddenly, held two stubs of candles; she held them out, and a quick flash of Uncle Merlin’s eyes turned the taller one into two. Silently Mother handed a candle to each of us, and Merlin set them aflame. We set the candles on the boats and pushed them off into the lake. I think Uncle Merlin provided them the momentum to leave the shore even through the waves coming up to us, but I wasn’t watching him. Through a sudden blur of tears, I was following the little boats with my eyes as they slipped out into the lake.

We knelt there quietly by the lake’s brink and watched the little vessels of fire float further and further away, watched as the wood caught flame, watched as they blazed up and then sank beneath the waves.

We stayed there by the shore of Avalon all night, Mother, Uncle Merlin, and I – Father’s wife, closest friend, and son – and kept vigil over the place where he had been laid to rest.

As I rode back to the castle the next day, sore and stiff, but oddly at peace, I felt as though I had grieved my father properly for the first time in my life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This will be a happy story, in the end. But sometimes I have to write about how things are broken before I fix them. And sometimes in the brokenness beautiful things can be found.)


	6. Of Grandparents and Smiles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Amhar reflects on his grandparents and his Uncle Merlin's smiles.

By some odd twist, all the parents of my parents were dead long before I was born. I’ve never wanted for grandparents, though.

Mother’s mother died of illness when Mother was young, leaving her trying to mother Elyan; her father Tom was executed by Uther, falsely accused of sorcery. Mother has never felt like telling me the details of that story, and I don’t press her. Father’s mother died when he was born, and his father was a king I grudgingly admire for his bravery and hate for his persecution of magic. Uncle Merlin seems to be the only one who knows the full details of how he died, and he doesn’t tell me that story either.

It is through Uncle Merlin, though, that I have had grandparents. Gaius was the old court physician until he retired and passed the post along to a young sorceress when I was a small boy. He is almost Uncle Merlin’s father, and I have been convinced since I was very young that he knows absolutely everything there is to know. Even Mother goes to his chambers when she has a problem she can’t solve or when she simply wants to relax for a bit. He doesn’t leave his chambers often anymore, but I have always enjoyed visiting him, since he is a wise old man with plenty of funny stories about Uncle Merlin. He has been married to Alice ever since I can remember, though Uncle Merlin says the wedding happened when I was about two. She is a very sweet grandmotherly woman who gives warm hugs and always has cookies when I come to visit. Uncle Merlin says I don’t want to know what Gaius’s cooking was like before she came and took that aspect over.

Uncle Merlin’s mother, Hunith, is my other grandmother. She moved to Camelot when I was young too, and she mothers everyone in the castle, from the queen to the knights to the court sorcerer, who goes to her small hut in the lower town whenever he needs to clear his head and be with his mother for a bit. He took me with him fairly frequently when I was young enough to babble in the background and not eavesdrop, and Hunith promptly took me under her wing as her grandson. Her door is always open, and she gives warm affection and is an excellent listener.

She is also the only person I know who can always make Uncle Merlin smile when he’s with her.

* * *

Uncle Merlin has the brightest, warmest smile of anyone I know, if you can coax his full smile out of him. He doesn’t give it much these days, in contrast to the days Mother first knew him, when she says he gave it freely. But it always makes me feel warm and safe deep down inside if I can get him to give it instead of the slightly bitter half-smile he typically gives.

The first time I remember seeing Uncle Merlin’s real smile was when I was very young, and really under very ordinary circumstances. It was the first snow of the year, and I had coaxed him out of a giant pile of paperwork to play with me in the courtyard. I don’t remember what he was working on – some druid quarrel, I think – but I do know that he was more resistant to playing with me than usual. My childish charms eventually worked, though, and we scampered around the castle courtyard, making snow men and snow angels and throwing snowballs at each other and having a great time. I was too young to really hit him with any of my snowballs, whereas he was fearfully accurate; he was probably using a bit of magic for that.

“You can’t hit me!” he said playfully. “I am the great sorcerer Merlin and invulnerable!”

“I am the great knight Amhar!” I called back in my little highpitched voice, “and any man’s equal!” I was mostly quoting Uncle Leon, I think, but coincidentally my next snowball was the first to hit him.

Uncle Merlin threw back his head and laughed. But when he was done laughing, he gave me his full, broad smile, unhindered by pain or worry.

I think that was the day I made it a private, personal mission to make Uncle Merlin smile as often as possible.

Over the years, I’ve managed to coax that smile out of him every so often. Getting him to play with me until he was lighthearted and forgot the cares of the kingdom was usually a good way to draw it out; usually when we fly on Aithusa he’ll give it at least once during the flight, which may be one of the reasons I love flying so much. But also, if I could get him to talk about the good memories he has of Camelot in my father’s day – his friendships with Lancelot and Gwaine, the glory days of Mother and Father’s romance, the times he and Father were carefree friends together in spite of the fact that they were prince and servant and had the weight of the kingdom on their shoulders – he will smile that way. Of course I love the stories of the grand adventures he had with Father in those days, but as I’ve gotten older and realized that most of those stories had sharp edges to them – memories of pain, of difficult decisions made, of loss and sorrow that he never told me when I was little – I’ve come to prefer the stories of simple friendship, for those are easy for Uncle Merlin to tell and often make him smile.

There was one night, not that long after the night we spent mourning Father together, that Mother, Uncle Merlin, and I ate supper together; Mother and Uncle Merlin were lightheartedly reminiscing about the early days of their friendship – time spent serving Father and the Lady Morgana at feasts, the statue of a dog Mother inspired Uncle Merlin to bring to life. “It became one of Arthur’s favorite hunting dogs and the only one that ever really liked me; maybe it felt grateful,” Merlin commented.

“How did you two meet?” I asked suddenly, curious.

Uncle Merlin chuckled. “It was the day after I came to Camelot, I think,” he said. “I was making my first acquaintance with the stocks.”

Mother’s eyes lit up. “And I’d seen you standing up to Arthur the day before, so I decided to introduce myself,” she said.

“Right, and you said I wasn’t a rough, tough, save the world kind of guy for all my standing up to Arthur had impressed you,” Uncle Merlin said. He was smiling now, the wide grin he rarely gave that made me feel all warm inside.

“You told me you were in disguise,” Mother reminded him. “And you were right.”

That comment brought a faint shadow to Merlin’s face. “I was more reckless back then,” he admitted, but it made Mother laugh. She turned to me. “And we’ve been friends since,” she said.

“You were my first friend in Camelot,” Uncle Merlin reminded her.

“Before Father?” I asked curiously.

Uncle Merlin’s lips twitched toward that smile again. “Of course,” he said. “Arthur, I’m afraid to say, was quite a prat and a royal one back then. It took a while before I even realized he was tolerable to be around.”

This wasn’t the first time I’d heard that, so I brushed it aside in favor of getting an answer to my other question. “What on earth were you in the stocks for?” I’d never seen my uncle in the stocks, and it wasn’t a mental image I could readily conjure. Uncle Merlin wasn’t the most dignified of men, as he could still trip over nothing at times, but he was a far cry removed from the stocks.

“I was in them a fair bit back then,” he returned, looking as though he was trying not to smile. “That time I believe it was for the way I treated Arthur when I first met him.”

“How did you meet Father?” I pressed. If I’d heard the story, it had been when I was so young I didn’t remember it.

This time Uncle Merlin really laughed. “I’ve not told you the details of that?” he said, and his grin was staying on his face now. “Well, it happened like this. A country boy without much sense of manners and even less of a notion of how to treat royalty ran into a prince who was a prat and needed to be taken down a few pegs . . .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wraps up Amhar's memories of his childhood, so the next chapter will focus on the present day and the plot. :)


	7. When My World Began to Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a certain knight reappears.

On the first fine day in early spring, Uncle Merlin and I were riding through the forest together. I had been restless after the winter confined in the castle, and he had been quite ready to get out into the woods as well, so we had taken a long gallop through the forest and were riding back toward the castle in late afternoon when Uncle Merlin suddenly drew his horse to a halt.

I followed suit, surprised and about to ask him why when I saw how tense he had become. “Is something wrong?” I whispered, putting my hand on the hilt of the sword I carried on my saddle.

“I’m not sure,” he whispered back. “I feel – as though something is changing forever.”

I frowned, not certain why that feeling would be making Merlin scan the trees around us as if he expected a threat to appear at any moment, but it certainly didn’t make me feel safe.

The slight crackling of the footsteps of a man walking lightly broke the silence and made me draw my sword. Uncle Merlin slipped quietly off his horse and looked ready to throw a spell at the slightest twitch in the bushes.

Abruptly two bushes parted and a dark haired man in chain mail and a dark cloak emerged. “Merlin!” he exclaimed eagerly, stepping toward him.

Uncle Merlin’s eyes grew dark, but rather to my surprise he took a step back instead of attacking. “Lancelot,” he said uncertainly, before muttering to himself, “What is bringing you back this time?”

I looked back at the new man with great interest, since I didn’t understand Uncle Merlin’s second line at all. I knew the stories of Lancelot, of course, but I’d never dreamed I’d see the brave, noble Knight myself; as he was supposed to be dead, I began wondering if I was dreaming.

He had apparently heard Merlin’s muttered question, for he looked quite ashamed and raised his hands in the air. “I’m not brought back by a spell this time,” he said intently. “Freya said my time had come and sent me back.”

Uncle Merlin turned quite pale. “F-Freya?” he faltered, supporting himself with one hand on his horse as if he was afraid he would fall.

“She told us that King Arthur would need the Knights of the Round Table with him when he returned,” Lancelot told him. “As I was the first to die, so I am also the first to come back.” He smiled a bit to himself as he lowered his hands. “She has worked long and hard to be able to return us all.”

My heart was springing with quick joy at the thought of seeing Gwaine and Uncle Elyan sometime as well, but why would they come back now? Father certainly hadn’t returned yet.

Uncle Merlin was staring at Lancelot through narrowed eyes, and I could tell well enough that he didn’t believe him at all. Lancelot sighed slightly. “I know you don’t believe me, Merlin,” he said quietly. “I’m so, so sorry for everything I did as a shade.”

Merlin drew a tired sigh and ran one hand through his hair, thinking. “That certainly wasn’t your fault,” he returned. “Look, are you saying Arthur is returning?”

“Soon, yes,” Lancelot answered firmly. “Freya says the time of his return is swiftly approaching. He’s quite impatient, mind you.”

Uncle Merlin’s eyes grew very large in his suddenly colorless face, and he scrubbed both hands roughly through his hair. “Arthur’s return,” he muttered distractedly under his breath, but I was near enough to hear him. _“What_ is he trying to do?”

He stared up at the treetops, and for an instant I could see intense longing cross his face; I knew him well enough to know he would give anything for Father’s return, and the fact that Lancelot treated it as if it was coming swiftly was confusing me as much as him. I was growing more excited by the minute, however, and could not understand Uncle Merlin’s hesitations with Lancelot, for the thought of my father and all his closest knights back in Camelot sounded like heaven to me.

Lancelot was watching Merlin with what I thought was compassion; Merlin suddenly turned back to him. “Do you remember the old tricks I used to get up to?” he asked.

Looking both pained and compassionate, Lancelot replied at once, “Of course. You had a habit of saving us with them behind everyone’s back.”

“Except yours,” Merlin muttered. “Well, they’ve got him closer to the truth this time at least.”

“Look, Merlin,” Lancelot said suddenly, “I am telling the truth. It was Freya who realized that she could send the Knights of the Round Table back with Arthur, and she created a corner of Avalon – I guess you could call it limbo – where we’ve stayed for the last years. Now enough of a threat seems to be coming that she can send us back.”

Uncle Merlin was watching him with fierce longing in his eyes; he suddenly seemed to come to a decision. “Lancelot,” he said firmly, “I forbid you to tell anyone else of Arthur’s return for now.” He took the reins of his horse and held them out. “In the meantime, we return to Camelot.”

Lancelot took the reins hesitantly. “What can I do to make you believe me?” he asked softly.

“Nothing, for the moment,” Uncle Merlin replied briefly. Coming over to my horse, he added to me, “I need to ride with you back.”

Much to my embarrassment, I was still small enough that I could ride double with most people without tiring my horse too much; I nodded. Uncle Merlin swung up behind me, muttering about not knowing why his dearest dream had to be turned into a nightmare.

The ride back to Camelot was tense and quiet. The strain between Merlin and Lancelot made it very uncomfortable, so to break the silence I said suddenly, “I’m Prince Amhar of Camelot.”

Uncle Merlin stiffened behind me, and I wondered if he hadn’t wanted me to say that. Lancelot gave me a small smile, though. “It is an honor to meet you, Your Highness,” he said gracefully.

And there seemed to be nothing more to say.

The ride back to Camelot seemed to take forever, even though it couldn’t have been above a half-hour. When we reached the courtyard, the only person in it was Uncle Percival; he stopped short and stared when we came riding in. Uncle Merlin dismounted quickly behind me almost before I’d stopped my horse and hurried over to him with a quick word; then he turned and rushed quickly toward the stables. Badly confused, I slipped off my horse and followed him, leaving the two knights to greet each other.

He was standing motionless with his head resting against one of the posts in the stable when I reached him; I could never remember seeing him so defeated. “Uncle Merlin?” I asked hesitantly.

“I’ve watched him die twice,” he murmured, hardly to me. “I can’t – I _can’t_ watch him die again.” He spun from the post with sudden determination and began saddling one of our swiftest horses.

“What are you doing?” I asked, shaking my head.

“I have to get to the bottom of this,” he said feverishly. “I have to talk to Freya.”

“You don’t believe him?” I pressed.

“I want to,” Merlin said quickly, “I want to so much. But this could so easily be a trap, and I can’t go through this again.” He grabbed his horse’s reins and swung up. “Amhar,” he said firmly, looking down at me, “you must not let your mother and Lancelot be alone together till I get back. Understood?”

I stared at him, lost and understanding nothing, but he looked desperate, so I simply nodded. Uncle Merlin nodded back to me, tightened his hands on the reins, and rode from the courtyard at a gallop. I was left behind, utterly confused.

Since there seemed to be nothing else to do, I meandered up the steps in search of this mysterious Lancelot. I found him with Leon, Percival, and Mother just inside the walls, and as near as I could tell, he had just finished giving the explanation he had given Uncle Merlin in the woods. Mother’s hands were over her mouth, her eyes wide. “Arthur – Arthur is coming back soon?” she whispered.

“I’m not sure how soon, my lady,” Lancelot said steadily, “but he will be back before long.” He paused, looking very uncomfortable. “I’m very sorry for all the grief I caused you when I was a shade,” he told Mother. “The bracelet I gave you was enchanted – you were not in control of what you did then either.”

Mother’s eyes filled with tears. “It was not your fault,” she said steadily. “I forgive you.” And then she added hastily, “Excuse me,” and hurried from the room.

Well, that fulfilled the mandate of her and Lancelot not being together.

I was beginning to realize that I was missing a very major piece of the story, however. I had never heard of shades or enchantments, and what Uncle Merlin had said about Lancelot dying twice still made no sense to me. Clearly there was a story here they had never seen fit to tell me.

Leon, Percival, and Lancelot had begun to talk together like old comrades catching up on a long absence, but I drifted away, uncomfortable; until Uncle Merlin said this strange occurrence was safe, I disliked it as well. As time wore on, however, I began to guess that he had tasked Uncle Percival with keeping an eye on Lancelot, as he never left his side.

We had finished a belated meal – Mother, me, and these three knights – and were sitting in the dining hall when Uncle Merlin returned. It had been a very uncomfortable meal, as I was on edge with the situation, and neither Mother, Uncle Percival, nor Lancelot seemed at ease either. Only Uncle Leon tried to bring a semblance of normality to the meal, and he was not very successful.

When Uncle Merlin appeared in the doorway, though, the confusion of earlier seemed to have left him altogether; his face was shining with a bright hope I had never seen in him, and he was smiling through the tears in his eyes. We all spun to look at him.

“It’s true,” he said, sounding stunned and watching Lancelot. “I’m sorry I doubted you. It’s all true.”

Lancelot smiled, relieved, and took a step toward Uncle Merlin, who came quickly into the room. This time they hugged each other tightly for a moment.

“I’m sorry it had to be me to return first,” he said. “I knew you would doubt me.”

“I’m so glad you’re back,” was all Uncle Merlin said.

“It’s all true?” Mother asked suddenly, intent. “Lancelot is really back this time and – and Arthur is returning?”

“I talked to Freya,” Merlin said, a wistful smile touching his lips. “She really did it – she found a way to send the Round Table back with Arthur. She can’t tell us when, of course, but Arthur is coming back – soon.”

He said the last words slowly, as if he couldn’t in the least believe them himself, but his smile spread wide. Mother gave a quick delighted gasp and hugged me abruptly as if it was the only response she could think of.

“Arthur is coming,” she said unsteadily, smiling with sudden hope. “He’s coming back.”

Uncle Percival, meanwhile, had turned to Lancelot, smiling. “It is very good to have you back,” he said sincerely, extending his arm, and Lancelot clasped forearms with a smile.

“It is very good to be back,” he said earnestly. “I had forgotten how much I had missed seeing you all face to face.”

“You’ve seen us otherwise?” Uncle Leon asked, but the edge the atmosphere had had earlier was gone, and his question was simply curiosity.

Lancelot chuckled. “Freya has ways of making the surface of the water show places we could not be,” he explained. “She couldn’t do it all the time, or else we’d probably have spent all our time watching you, but she showed us what was going on in Camelot quite frequently.” He turned to me with a broad smile. “Arthur told me to tell you he was very proud of you, Amhar,” he said. “He couldn’t believe he had a son when we first watched Gwen tell Merlin. He wishes he’d been here to raise you, but he’s been watching your progress intently for years. He must have told me ten times that I was not to forget to tell you that he is proud of you and loves you.”

Strange as the method was, this was by far the most direct contact I’d had with my father in my life, and to my embarrassment I felt myself tear up. To make the father I had never known proud had been the goal of my young life, and to know for certain he loved me . . .

“Arthur told me to tell you, Gwen, that he’s more in love with you than ever,” Lancelot went on, turning to Mother. I could tell Uncle Merlin was watching him intently as he said the words and remembered what he had said vaguely once about Lancelot caring for Mother, but there was no sign in the new knight’s face that the words were difficult to say. “Merlin,” he added, “he says that there was nothing more you could have done, and to tell his best friend that he is an idiot.”

There were tears in Mother’s eyes now too, and in Uncle Merlin’s, although he chuckled a bit through them. Lancelot turned to the other two knights. “Arthur said to tell you two that he is proud of the way you have stepped up to help the kingdom and lead the army in his absence. But by that time Freya was getting impatient to send me back, and the rest will be back to say what they want to say soon, so I’m not overloaded with other messages. Except that Elyan says to tell his sister that she makes the finest queen he has ever seen, and Gwaine made sure to add that we all owe him a day in the tavern as soon as Freya lets him out of a lake disappointingly lacking in anything alcoholic.”

There was laughter through the tears in everyone’s eyes, and the rest of the evening was much lighter. We sat around, telling old stories of the days of Arthur’s reign, talking over the important events Lancelot had only been able to see from the lake. To me, Lancelot being there with us felt as though a piece of Camelot, of my life, that had always been missing had slotted back into place, and I was content.

_Your father is proud of you . . . he loves you_. I repeated the words in my head a thousand times, a backdrop to the conversation. I still smiled every time.

* * *

The following day, however, I went to Uncle Merlin’s chambers when I knew he’d be alone. “What happened with Uncle Lancelot?” I demanded immediately.

He looked at me. “What do you mean?” he asked, used to my abrupt entrances.

“Something changed between the day you told me he died and when he came back,” I said. “How could he have died twice?”

Uncle Merlin sighed tiredly and waved me to a chair. “You know I told you someone came between your mother and father before they were married?” he asked, and I nodded, frowning. It was a point he had glossed over in the old stories, and Mother had never talked about it.

Merlin rested his head on one hand and stared at the sunlight streaming through his window. “Morgana pulled Lancelot back into the world,” he said quietly, “not as a living man but as a shade. She sent him to Camelot to make Gwen – show affection to him and thus betray Arthur. Gwen and Lancelot had been – close, at times, in the past.”

He sighed and turned toward me a bit. “I still don’t believe Gwen was in her right mind any more than Lancelot was –”

“She wasn’t,” I said quickly. “Lancelot apologized to her yesterday and said the bracelet he gave her enchanted her.”

“That would explain it,” Merlin said quickly, in the tone he used when he’d discovered a mystery. “Anyhow, driven by the enchantment they kissed each other. Arthur was furious and banished Gwen. Lancelot died a second time; I took him to Avalon and buried him there.” His voice shook over the last few sentences. I was silent, knowing him well enough to know that behind those few sentences had been a world of hurt for him, and for both my parents.

“Anyhow, given what had happened the last time Lancelot mysteriously returned, you can see why I was wary yesterday,” Uncle Merlin added after a long moment.

“Of course,” I agreed readily. “I’m – I’m sorry that had to happen. But did Father –”

Merlin picked up my broken-off query. “Arthur and Gwen met again when we had to flee Camelot as a result of Agravaine’s treachery -- and Morgana's," he added with an effort. “They had had time to cool their tempers and realize that they both loved each other.” He smiled a bit to himself.

I nodded, unsurprised that Uncle Merlin had never told me the details of this story before; it left me with one fundamental question in my head, difficult to put into words. "Mother and Lancelot -- there's nothing nowadays, is there?" I asked at last.

Uncle Merlin shook his head firmly. "Your mother always loved Arthur the most, I think, and she made her decision for him years ago," he said. "And Lancelot has been apart from her for a long time since he died, and he has left his love behind him too. But you mustn't think for a moment that they would have betrayed your father if they were in their right minds," he told me, eyes intent. "Lancelot was far too honorable for that, and Gwen truly loved Arthur. Don't let this story change your opinion of either of them."

"I won't," I declared; I knew well enough from the tales that enchantments could change one completely. I smiled at Merlin and got up.

I had walked to the door before I gathered the courage to ask my other question, and I said it without turning around. “Do – do you really think Father is coming back?”

The words had come out in a tremendous rush, but when I turned I knew Uncle Merlin had understood. His eyes were bright, and he was smiling wistfully; I knew the answer even before he spoke.

“I had never dared think Arthur might return this soon,” he said softly, meeting my eyes. “But Freya and Lancelot would not deceive us.” He stood up and came to put his hand on my shoulder, that unfamiliar hope alight in his face. “Your father,” he said steadily, “will come back soon.”

* * *

Having Lancelot back in Camelot turned out to be delightful. He was a very noble and chivalrous man, not to mention swift with a sword, and he taught me as much about nobility by his steady example as he did about swordplay when he joined our training on certain days. It wasn’t long before I was calling him Uncle Lancelot.

Although Uncle Merlin had certainly told me how Lancelot had been the first in Camelot apart from Gaius to realize that Merlin had magic and had accepted it, I had never realized just how deep their friendship went. Uncle Merlin, I could tell, trusted Uncle Lancelot in a way he trusted no one else; he relaxed in his presence, especially around his magic. Lancelot was the only person besides me and those with magic that Merlin would do magic in front of without a second thought or a glance sideways for permission. Every time I saw that it made me smile.

* * *

Once every two weeks, Mother held an open court, where anyone in the land, no matter how great or small, could bring appeals before her. I was sitting by her right hand one afternoon, listening to an old woman from an outlying village drone on about how her sons were cheating her out of a decent living – she had a valid complaint, but she was stating it at such length and with such bootlicking that I was zoning out – when the steady tramp of marching feet broke into her cracked voice.

Mother instantly straightened, and I racked my brain to think of any patrol that might be returning but could think of none. “A moment, Kelsie,” she said to the old woman (I was astonished that she had remembered her name). “Could you step aside?”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Kelsie answered at once, scrambling off to one side. “Anything for Your Majesty.”

She was not a moment too soon. The throneroom doors were flung open so violently that the guards had to jump out of the way not to be struck by them, and a group of twenty soldiers in black clothing strode into the room. Mother stood up; Uncle Merlin stepped to her side; every knight and guard in the room was instantly alert. The group strode in perfect step up to the throne, where their leader flung a coiled scroll at Mother’s feet.

“We come on behalf of the Saxon leader Landin,” he announced in an accented voice. “He demands that all of Albion surrender to him, starting with Camelot. He is marching on you with an army larger than those of the Five Kingdoms put together and over a hundred sorcerers as well. You would be wise to surrender before you face a fight you cannot win.”

There was a stunned silence in the throneroom.

Sir Bevidere, a young and rather impetuous knight, abruptly broke it. “Should we arrest them, my lady?” he demanded of Mother, his hand white-knuckled on his sword hilt.

“You fool,” the leader of the black-dressed men spat sharply. “I am only here as a diplomat; it would be cowardly to kill me. Landin is gracious; he gives you a chance to surrender.” The man spun on Mother and thrust three fingers toward her. “Three months,” he said. “You have three months. I advise you to consider how to prepare your kingdom for another rule during that time.”

With that his whole group spun on their heel and marched from the throne room with perfect synchronization.

For a moment, there was trembling silence; then a burst of voices broke out. Uncle Leon bent and picked up the scroll thrown down; as he read it, his face paled.

“How real do you think the threat is?” Mother asked softly, under cover of the babble of noise.

“He did not speak as a man fabricating a threat,” Uncle Leon said softly, “and what is written on this scroll seems very real.”

“This would explain why Queen Annis has complained of an unnatural number of men amassing near her borders of late,” Uncle Percival said quietly.

Uncle Merlin said nothing, but both he and Mother looked as though a great weight had suddenly come to bear on their shoulders. Then Mother drew a deep breath and resumed her queenliness.

“Quiet!” she called out clearly. When Uncle Leon shouted it more loudly, the court slowly and with much muttering fell silent.

“Court is dismissed,” Mother said clearly. “I apologize to all who came with complaints; I will hear them at the same time tomorrow. I need the council to assemble at the Round Table at once. Dismissed!”

Most people were clearly reluctant to leave, but fortunately they did. Mother turned to Uncle Lancelot, standing grim and silent behind Merlin. “Could you kindly ask Gaius to come?” she asked him.

I knew then what she meant. She would consult with the council about what to do with this threat and how much of a threat it was, but in the end it would come down to those who were left of the original Round Table to make the decision. Mother trusted them as she trusted no one else.

This was exactly what transpired. No one thought of sending me from the room, despite the fact that I was young to be listening to discussions of this kind of gravity; but I had been listening in on council sessions for years and it paid off now. I said nothing, however, for there seemed to be nothing to say. The talk made our position clear – we could not, of course, surrender our people to probable slavery and ourselves to death, but we might well destroy ourselves in the fight.

After tedious hours of the council discussing the threat, the scroll, and trying to map out our enemy’s likely location, when all that had been agreed on was that this was a legitimate threat and we were driven into a corner, Mother dismissed everyone except Merlin, Gaius, Leon, Percival, Lancelot, and me. She stood and looked at each of us.

“We face a near-impossible decision,” she said quietly, strongly, “but we cannot give up the kingdom. We shall have to fight.”

Slowly all those left rose to their feet to stand with her, beginning with Lancelot. Even Gaius and I stood.

“It is not hopeless, though,” Uncle Merlin said quietly. “We are not the only kingdom threatened. We have no choice but to reach out to all our allies – to anyone who would fight with us – and move against the Saxons together.” He drew a very long breath and stared up at the ceiling for a moment. “We shall have to unite Albion.”

I couldn’t understand why he looked horribly broken as he finished saying this, but there was silence for a long moment before Lancelot put in softly, “Arthur may come back to lead it.”

For a moment, there was a wild, flaming hope in Merlin’s eyes that spread to Mother’s and everyone else’s. Then Uncle Merlin shook himself slightly. “I shall ride to Caerleon’s land at once and speak to Queen Annis,” he said. “The Saxons gather on her border, and she is an ally. I am sure she will agree.”

“Are you sure I should not go?” Mother asked. “For a matter as grave as this?”

“You need to stay here, my lady,” Gaius told her. “The people will need their queen. There were many commoners in the throne room today; by this evening, the news of the coming attack will be all over the city. You will need to be seen as a strong, unwavering presence who can lead them through this nightmare.”

Mother straightened her shoulders and nodded. I had never seen her stronger or more queenly than in that moment.

Uncle Merlin bent his head to her in respect. “I ride at first light,” he said.

“We,” Lancelot suddenly corrected him.

Merlin looked at him in surprise; Lancelot met his eyes with a small smile. “You think I’d let you go off alone?” he asked. “You’re not immortal, Merlin.” He sounded as if he was reminding him of something said years ago.

Given how much Uncle Merlin tended to protest taking anyone with him when he went off on a dangerous mission, I expected him to argue, but instead he suddenly smiled – his wide, utterly happy smile. _"We_ ride at first light,” he corrected firmly.

Mother had a small, pleased smile on her face. “Then the council is dismissed,” she said.


	8. The Turning of the Tide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which more knights make appearances.

We were having a picnic on the wide, grassy meadow near Camelot where Uncle Merlin had told me he used to meet with the Great Dragon Kilgharrah. He had just gotten back from his second trip, this time to King Bayard of Mercia, with a promise of alliance, but everyone in the citadel had become so on edge in the last few weeks from the Saxon threat that Uncle Leon had taken it upon himself to attempt to convince Mother to take one afternoon off and relax. He had been decidedly unsuccessful until Gaius, who I knew was worried about everyone’s health under the strain, had told Mother that it was very bad for the health to stay holed up in council rooms, and that for the sake of one so young as I, at least, she should consider an afternoon out of doors. Mother capitulated at that.

The Saxons, according to Gaius when I asked him about them in Uncle Merlin’s absence, had been soundly beaten the last time they had advanced on us, the time when Father died. Uncle Merlin had had a lot to do with their sound beating. They had, however, apparently not given up on their dreams of domination, though it had taken them years to gather an army formidable enough to be a threat again. I had the feeling we were more worried about how many sorcerers they had and what they could do than the numbers of their army, for we didn’t have that many magic users in the ranks of our knights, and we were one of the few kingdoms who even went that far, even though the Great Purge had been officially ended everywhere for the last decade at least.

Even on this afternoon of relaxation, Mother was tense and on edge, and Merlin, Lancelot, and Leon were discussing the best order in which to approach the various kingdoms with requests for military alliance, with Percival putting in a word every now and then. Aithusa, who had joined us, was the only one completely enjoying herself; she was running around begging for tidbits of food like the oversized dog she acted like once in a while. She has an obsession with human food when she can get it.

I was on the verge of asking Uncle Merlin to take me flying on her, mostly because all the tension was wearing on me and I wanted to get away from it for half an hour, when the trees at the far end of the clearing suddenly parted and a strange dark man in chain mail stood there staring at us.

Half the knights instantly leapt to their feet and drew their swords, but I noted that none of the original Round Table knights did, even though they had been the jumpiest all day. Even Uncle Merlin was only sitting up with a wide smile spreading on his face.

But Mother! Mother leapt to her feet, her face radiant with the truest smile I’d seen since the Saxon threat began. With a cry, she raced across the clearing toward the man, utterly disregarding queenly dignity, and he broke from the trees and began running toward her. I suddenly made out what she was saying – Elyan.

Elyan! I scrambled to my feet, suddenly excited and nervous. My one real uncle, dead before I knew him, had come back.

Mother and Elyan met each other and enveloped each other in a massive hug. Even from my distance I could tell they were both smiling and crying at the same time.

The Round Table knights were on their feet now, all smiling broadly. “Elyan has come back,” Uncle Merlin commented, quite unnecessarily. They began hurrying toward their comrade. Merlin put his hand on my shoulder, and we followed them.

When we reached Mother and Uncle Elyan, they were still clinging to each other’s arms, saying a litany of apologies though they were smiling all over their faces and still crying.

“I can’t believe you’re here!” Mother breathed.

“I can’t believe I’m back,” he replied tenderly. “Freya said it was finally time for me to return. I couldn’t wait.”

He gave her a quick, final squeeze and turned to the knights. “Leon!” he exclaimed, swiftly hugging the man nearest him. He went through the round of hugs with Percival, Merlin, and Lancelot, who were all smiling giddily, before he turned to me.

“Amhar,” he said cheerfully, clasping my forearm like a knight before pulling me into a quick hug. “You do our family credit.”

I smiled up at him, glad to meet my only uncle by blood at last. “I’m glad of that,” was all I could think to say.

“We have a picnic,” Mother suggested at last.

“My first meal in years,” Elyan said, grinning. He gave Mother another quick hug. “How could I pass that up?”

As we walked back toward the other picnickers, Mother and Uncle Elyan walking side by side and all the knights around us, I felt as though another missing puzzle piece had slotted into place, that something both I and Camelot had been missing all these years had come home. 

The picnic became an impromptu celebration.

* * *

“We don’t have time to ride to all the kingdoms,” Uncle Merlin commented before a Round Table meeting. He was troubled and pacing. “If we’re going to ally with all the kingdoms in time to mobilize armies, we need to move faster.”

Uncle Lancelot and I were the only other ones in the room, and it was clear he was talking to Lancelot, who had been his faithful partner in all the alliance travel. “What are you suggesting?” he asked now.

Merlin stopped pacing to look at him. “You’re not going to like it,” he said warningly.

Lancelot gave him a firm look, and Uncle Merlin sighed and spun away to pace again. “We could fly,” he suggested. “On Aithusa.”

“That’s a great idea!” I jumped in. “Uncle Lancelot, you don’t know how wonderful it is to fly.”

For a moment, Lancelot looked torn between saying no, this was a terrible idea and a certain enthusiasm. In the end, he settled for, “What kingdom do you think we could take her to that wouldn’t see that as an act of war?”

Uncle Merlin’s whole posture relaxed suddenly with Lancelot’s acceptance, and he dropped into his seat at the table. “Nemeth,” he suggested. “They’ve been the most open to magic; they have magic users in their armies. We need to go there next anyway.”

Uncle Lancelot was smiling just a bit. “The dragon it is then,” he said. “Let’s hope flying is as wonderful as Amhar says it is.”

“We leave at dawn?” Merlin asked. He opened his palm and let a flame flicker there; doing simple magic like this was a way he had of relaxing if he trusted those around him not to care, which mostly meant me and Uncle Lancelot, and in these tense days he was doing it far more often than I had eve known him to before.

“We leave at dawn,” Lancelot said firmly. He leaned back in his chair and laughed. “On a dragon,” he muttered. “I declare, Merlin, life with you around is never dull.”

“You’ll love it,” I predicted confidently. “The ground falling away beneath you – the wind in your face – the world lying before you – there’s nothing else like it.”

Uncle Lancelot smiled at me, though he didn’t look entirely sure that he liked my descriptions, but at that moment the doors opened and the others came in. Uncle Merlin snapped his hand shut, closing off the flame, and the magical planning session was over.

* * *

There came a quiet night when neither Mother nor Uncle Merlin had anything pressing going on, and Mother, Uncle Merlin, and I took advantage of it and ate supper together in Mother’s small parlor. We often ate meals together there since it was spacious enough for a table and private. Uncle Merlin had just gotten back from his trip to Gawant, returning with a promise of alliance and much in the way of army numbers and logistics for the council to chew on, but the days since had been so busy that the three of us had hardly seen each other. We knew, too, that with the menacing threat, we’d probably not have much time to simply relax together in future, so after supper we sat quietly before the crackling fire and talked together quietly. I was exhausted, for that day Uncle Leon had driven all of us in training from those nearly knights to the newest squires harder and longer than ever before, and eventually I began to nod off. As I started drifting off, Mother and Uncle Merlin began talking to each other, and since they were talking of Father I made myself listen.

“For all your talk about Arthur being the Once and Future King, I didn’t think it would happen in my lifetime,” Mother said softly.

“Neither did I,” Uncle Merlin said frankly. “Kilgharrah said, ‘When Albion’s need is greatest, Arthur will return.’ I certainly didn’t think it would be this soon.”

“Do you really think this Saxon threat is the worst we’ll ever face?” Mother asked, sounding a bit troubled.

“It could be more than that,” Merlin said, haltingly. “Arthur died without fulfilling the prophecy. He was supposed to be king of Albion and bring back magic; Albion isn’t formed even now. I failed to keep him safe until he could do those things; perhaps he’s being sent back because of that.”

“Don’t blame yourself, Merlin,” Mother told him, as if she’d said it a hundred times over the years but was still sincere about it. “Even Arthur told you not to do that.” Then she added with a hint of a smile in her voice, “I’m almost glad he didn’t accomplish those things – sometimes I’m even almost glad of the threat – if it will bring Arthur back.”

Merlin hummed softly in agreement, and there was silence for a while. I was almost completely asleep when he said very quietly, “But what if Arthur rejects me when he comes back?”

I almost showed I was awake in my surprise, but given that I thought he would drop the topic if he knew I was listening, I stayed still.

“Rejects you?” Mother exclaimed, clearly as surprised as I was. “Merlin! He –”

“He was wary of magic, even if he didn’t hate it outright,” Uncle Merlin cut her off. “What if he comes back and doesn’t like the changes magic has made to Camelot?”

“They won’t be a surprise to him,” Mother protested indignantly. “He’s watched us like Lancelot and Elyan did.”

“Yes, and he’s probably seen me telling stories to Amhar and talking to you and realized just how much of a liar I was,” Merlin retorted. “If he blames me for all I kept hidden . . .”

“You said he accepted you having magic by the end,” Mother said gently. “He accepted that you’d kept that hidden. He won’t blame you.”

“He pushed me away to begin with,” he replied in a pained voice. “He was dying, Gwen, and completely dependent on me. He didn’t have much of a choice but to realize that I was still dedicated to him.”

“He won’t have forgotten that,” Mother reassured him. “He won’t go back on accepting you. He will have seen how much good magic has done for Camelot since it came back, and he’ll accept it.”

“And yet when he comes back we’re facing an army whose greatest threat is their sorcerers, _again_ ,” Merlin said tiredly. “Gwen, for once in his lifetime, couldn’t Arthur see the beauty of magic without suspicion?”

His voice broke a little over the last sentence, and I could tell Mother had shifted to put her arm around him.

“He will,” she said gently. “You’ve used it in the most magnificent and gentle ways since I knew you had it. He’ll see that too.”

Merlin was silent for a long time before he said quietly, “I’ve changed, though.”

“Of course,” Mother said distantly. “We all have.”

There was no reply for some time; then into the sleepy fog in my brain Mother’s voice penetrated very softly.

“There are days when I worry Arthur won’t love me as much.”

“Gwen,” Merlin protested after a shocked moment of silence, “if he’s seen anything from Avalon, he’ll have seen what a wonderful queen you’ve been. He’ll have fallen in love with you more than ever – didn’t he send those very words by Lancelot?”

“I know,” Mother said. “I know it’s silly. But I’m afraid, Merlin. I’ve been grieving his loss for so long that I’m afraid he won’t be able to fill it when he comes – that I’ve built him up so much in my head, trying not to forget anything, that the reality might be – less.”

There was no response except the shifting of material that told me Merlin had probably given Mother a hug. I couldn’t think of a response to that question.

* * *

It did, however, touch on my deepest fears about Father’s return. Mother and Uncle Merlin weren’t the only ones with perhaps irrational fears about him; I had been harboring quiet doubts deep within me almost since Uncle Lancelot said Father was coming back. The morning after overhearing this, less afraid, somehow, now that I knew I was not alone in my doubts, I went to talk to Uncle Merlin about them.

He was walking rapidly down a hallway, turning over notes on armies, when I caught up to him; these days he rarely spent time in his chambers where he had trained all his magical apprentices, done multiple magical experiments, spent countless hours with me. I would have preferred to have this conversation there, but since Uncle Merlin had begun setting up the alliances, I had scarcely seen him between his travels, and I would take what I could get.

“Dragon,” he acknowledged me, almost absently, as I caught up to him. He hadn’t called me that in some time, and for some reason my breath caught. Would Father ever have nicknamed me like that?

I had never been good at beating around the bush, so without forewarning I blurted out, “What if Father doesn’t like me?”

Uncle Merlin stopped walking at once and looked up. “What do you mean?” he asked, frowning. “Your father is inordinately proud of you if he could get over his dislike of ever saying what he meant enough to tell Lancelot to carry that message to you ten times.”

His voice was teasing, but he looked troubled, and I wasn’t satisfied either. “But Father has never been here,” I protested. “What if he doesn’t like the way I’ve grown up? Uncle Lancelot said there was a lot more those who were coming had to say – what if Father wishes I was different but he’s waiting to say that till he comes? What if –” I swallowed hard before I could bring the words out. “What if he wishes I had never been born?”

Merlin’s eyes widened; then he glanced around us at the servants hurrying along the hallways to their tasks. Putting his hand on my shoulder in the old familiar gesture, he led me along until we were in a much more deserted area of the castle – also utterly off his route to go anywhere he could be taking the papers he absently dropped to the ground before he turned to me. I swallowed again; only now that I knew my real father would be coming back soon did I notice all the fatherly things Uncle Merlin did with me, the way he had continually put me first. I didn’t want to lose him even if I did gain my father back.

“Listen, Amhar,” he said steadily, putting his hands on my shoulders and looking me in the eyes, “Your father would have wanted you, and not just as his heir. He told me once that he longed for a son. I used to picture him sometimes as a father, holding a little child in his arms, his eyes tender, when – when it started to become too much, always hiding in the shadows.” He had become lost in the memory for a moment; since he had realized Father would be coming back soon, he had become freer about remembering details of his past, not just the events relating to Father that he had always told me stories of, as if he was remembering both the good and the bad about the days when Father was here to prepare himself. The result was that sometimes I caught him in unguarded moments like this and had begun to realize just how difficult the dual life he had been forced to live and still lived on some days had been for him.

“He would be in the light,” he went on softly, remembering, “he and his family. And I would stay forever in the shadows, content if he lived and was happy.”

I could hear the words he didn’t add, that he had failed at that. There were days when I felt he still lived in the shadows; he didn’t often interact with anyone out of the small circle we had made a surrogate family, and even I scarcely knew the full extent of what he had done to support Mother’s reign and keep us safe over my life. Yet he had always put us first, always had time for me to tell me stories and be there for me like a father. Trying not to cry, I reached up and shook one of his arms, drawing him out of his thoughts.

“I don’t want to lose you either, Uncle Merlin,” I whispered. “I don’t want – this – to change when Father comes back.”

He stared at me, startled, for a moment, as though he hadn’t expected that at all, and although I was rather old for it, I couldn’t help reaching out to hug him in that moment. He hugged me back at once.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised me, his chest rumbling with his voice under my head; I could only cling tighter.

When we drew back, a silent pact had been made between us that we would still be close. We both grinned a bit at each other; then Uncle Merlin drew a deep breath and returned to addressing my concerns.

“Arthur would never send a message to you he didn’t mean every word of,” he said firmly. “He is proud of you; he wouldn’t want you to be different or be disappointed in you. He won’t want you to change.” He hesitated, then added more slowly, “If you still don’t believe that, you could ask Lancelot or Elyan; they’d know better than me these days.”

I could tell the pain the admission cost him, that others knew Arthur better than he could now, and I shook my head quickly. I liked Uncle Lancelot and Uncle Elyan very much, and I shared a mutual love of flying on dragons with Uncle Lancelot by now, but there wasn’t anyone in the world I would talk to about my fears about my father besides Uncle Merlin.

He nodded at me. “It’s natural to have fears about this coming,” he said after a moment, turning to look out the small window near us. “Your mother is afraid they won’t have the same relationship; but since they both love each other still, they’ll be fine. Arthur loves you though, and both you and he will want a relationship; you’ll work through it and be fine.”

“And you?” I asked softly, though I did feel comforted by his assurance.

He hesitated for a very long moment before he answered; when he did, it struck me that this was the first time he had ever confided in me as he did in Mother. “I’ve always told you about the relationship between Arthur and me as though it were near perfect,” he said softly, “but there were lies, so many lies. I kept so many things secret – I was too much of a coward to tell him. And when he could have known – he was dying, and we had a matter of hours. I don’t know how it will work when – when he knows so much more. If he’ll hate me for the lies. If, once he sees that I am a different person than the man he thought he knew, he’ll even want to know me.”

“You’re not a coward!” I protested the moment he finished speaking, because cowardly was the last thing Uncle Merlin could be called. His lips twisted sardonically when I said it, though, as if he was still thinking the exact opposite.

“Arthur would disagree,” he murmured.

I stared at him, stunned, for a moment, and then realizing I had no idea what he was referring to and not about to ask right then, I pressed on. “If Father was half the man you’ve always told me he was, he’ll forgive you,” I stated firmly. “You saved his life – how many times? He’d be an idiot not to realize that you’re his best friend when he knows that.”

Uncle Merlin smiled just a bit and bent to pick up the papers. “You may be right,” he admitted, straightening them. “I imagine we’re all worrying about nothing, and when Arthur comes we’ll realize how ridiculous we’ve been.”

From the depths of my being, I hoped that was true. And when Uncle Merlin and I left our secluded hallway side by side, I felt much more hopeful and less afraid than I had before, and by Uncle Merlin’s face, he did too.

“Where are you going?” I asked curiously.

“To meet with Leon and discuss the best place to meet up with Nemeth and Mercia’s armies,” he answered. As he often did, he caught my intent before I had to word it, and added, “You can come if you like, though it won’t be very interesting.”

“You forget how many boring council meetings I’ve suffered through,” I told him.

“How could I forget?” he retorted, smiling a bit. “I had to be at every one of them too!”

It wasn’t the meeting I wanted to go to, though; I was feeling very close to Uncle Merlin at the moment, and I wanted to spend as much time with him as I could before he left on another alliance trip. Whatever we might say to each other, I knew our relationship would change when Father came back, and the more I realized what he had given me, the more I wanted to relish the last of our time together.

So, side by side, we walked to Leon’s quarters in the castle together.

* * *

Uncle Merlin was walking with me to my training one morning near the end of the second month since the Saxon threat began; we were discussing the precise words in the old magical language he had taught me that one would use to transform a crow into a peacock for an hour. We were very engaged in the discussion when a man’s voice suddenly called out in the distance, “Merlin! Merlin – oi, Merlin!”

It was not a voice I recognized at all, and its owner was clearly getting closer and calling Merlin’s name in a sort of sing-song way, as if he had been calling it for a while. I promptly put my hand on my sword hilt, but when I looked at him, Uncle Merlin had a wide, almost incredulous smile on his face.

Then a man in chain mail with long brown hair appeared at the bottom of the staircase we were on, looking up and still calling, “Merlin!”

“Gwaine!” Merlin shouted back joyfully, and fairly flew down the stairs, nearly tripping on them in his haste. Gwaine, grinning widely, came up to meet him, and they hugged each other tightly for a moment.

“You look good,” Gwaine said cheerfully when they pulled apart. “Being Court Sorcerer suits you, apparently.”

It was still strange for me to hear these men who had just appeared from the dead talking like they knew the details of our lives, but clearly that wasn’t the first thing on Uncle Merlin’s mind. “You’re – okay with it?” he asked hesitantly, and I realized instantly that he was talking about his magic.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Gwaine asked, still light-hearted. “You’re Merlin. You couldn’t be evil if you tried. It’s not as if magic changes that. Besides,” he added, more seriously, “you’re still my best friend, even if you’re not the only one anymore.”

Uncle Merlin’s eyes shone bright for a moment; clearly Gwaine had realized how sensitive he was about his magic and chosen words that would put his fears to rest. He reached out and clapped Merlin on the shoulder. “Besides, I used to wonder,” he said lightly. “You were a strange one, Merlin. No wonder, having to keep all that hidden.” He glanced down at the ground and added seriously, “I wish we’d both been able to trust each other more freely and talk about it. You could have used a friend who knew.”

Uncle Merlin laughed rather thickly, but he looked relieved. “Thanks, Gwaine,” he said sincerely, and then, since both of them seemed ready to be done with this moment, he added lightly, “How on earth did you get this far into the palace? Someone should have stopped you.”

“Oh, you know, they’re just used to dead knights returning by this time,” Gwaine retorted cheerily. “I’m just par for the course at the moment – which is painful, you know? I’ll have to make my mark on Camelot again, though that may be difficult when most of the girls look at me like I’m a ghost.”

“You’re not making sense, Gwaine,” Uncle Merlin replied, grinning. “Either you’re par for the course or a ghost; you can’t be both.”

Gwaine looked ready to challenge that statement, but Uncle Merlin suddenly seemed to remember me and turned in my direction. “Amhar!” he called up, smiling at me. “This is Sir Gwaine, Knight of Camelot and the friendliest vagabond you’ll ever meet. Gwaine, this is Amhar, Arthur’s son.”

We clasped hands rather awkwardly, Gwaine scanning me with his eyes. “Nice to finally see you in person,” he said, smiling. “Look, this is strange. I know a lot about you, kid, and I can bet Merlin here has told you far more than he should have about me. So let’s just pretend we’ve been good friends for the last years instead of strangely separated, all right?”

I decided in that moment as I agreed that I liked Gwaine very much.

Mother suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs; for a moment she looked stunned, before she suddenly grinned and gathered her skirts to hurry down them.

“Gwaine!” she called brightly. “Gwen!” he replied, spinning to meet her. “As lovely as the day I thought you were a lady to be impressed and you were already stolen by Arthur.”

There was less hurt than there would once have been in Mother’s eyes at the reference to her marriage, with the hopes for Father’s return bright in her heart. She simply smiled at Gwaine and gave him a quick hug. “I’m glad you’re back,” she said.

“I’ve just been making friends with your son here,” he commented. “He’s a good kid, but I’m beginning to wonder how much adventure he’s had growing up without me here to liven his life up a bit.” “

Gwaine,” Mother replied with complete, queenly seriousness, “you are not taking my son to a tavern.”

Gwaine laughed, a bright, hearty laugh. “I wouldn’t dare get him drunk and face your wrath, my lady,” he replied. “So until he’s old enough to be introduced to the delights of taverns, I shall have to find some other way to open his eyes to the world. I wish you’d have left us some bandits so we could take him on a typical patrol and have it go all south.”

“Only you would find that fun, Gwaine,” Uncle Merlin said rather dryly.

“Or hunting!” Gwaine exclaimed with the air of a man making a great discovery. “Has he been introduced to the delights of hunting yet? I could show him –”

“I was already subjected to Arthur’s love of hunting,” Merlin cut in quickly. “I’d rather his son didn’t drag me into woods to unnecessarily kill animals.”

"I have been flying on a dragon," I informed Gwaine, smiling broadly; I couldn’t remember the last time Uncle Merlin had been so carefree. "I think that's quite adventurous."

"Right, the dragon!" Gwaine exclaimed eagerly, spinning to face Uncle Merlin. "How soon do I get to fly her?"

“I should go announce that we have another returned knight in our midst,” Mother said, laughing and preparing to take her leave. "I'll leave you to try keeping Gwaine from breaking his neck, Merlin."

To avoid panic when Lancelot, well-known to be dead, had suddenly appeared in our midst, Mother had made an announcement saying that owing to strange and wonderful magic, a few knights from the past were being allowed to return. Those who were wary of magic shunned Uncle Lancelot for a while until everyone realized that he was still just a man, and that the magic that sent him back hadn’t had an evil design in returning him. By the time Uncle Elyan appeared, everyone had taken it in stride, but Mother would still be wise to announce that Uncle Gwaine had arrived before anyone took it in their heads to arrest him, either for returning from the dead illegally or for usurping the garb of the knights when he wasn’t known to be one.

Gwaine came with Uncle Merlin and me as we headed toward the training grounds and fell in step with Merlin.

“I’m sorry I failed and told Morgana where you were going,” he said quietly, eyes downcast.

“That wasn’t your fault,” Merlin said quickly. “Morgana’s snakes –” He paused and shook his head. Gwaine looked at him in horror.

“She did that to you?” he asked.

“Not that specifically,” Uncle Merlin said quickly. “But you couldn’t have resisted.” When Gwaine looked unconvinced, he added, “Besides, I’m not the one you should apologize to.”

“I’ve had years to apologize to Arthur and realize that he doesn’t blame me for it,” Gwaine retorted. “You were nearly as broken by it all as he was, though, so I’m sorry.” “

You’re forgiven then, if there was anything to forgive,” Uncle Merlin said, half-smiling, and he and Gwaine clasped hands.

I understood nothing of what they were saying, except that they were referring to Father’s last days and that one more person felt guilty for what had happened. I knew better than to try asking Merlin what had happened in this case, though, for he had never been willing to tell me much of that tale, and I respected the pain that kept him silent.

But the soberness of the moment didn’t last long; Gwaine was too lighthearted for that. He stepped over to me and slung an arm around my shoulders.

“Gwen seems to be getting a lot of brothers lately,” he said cheerfully. “So how soon do I get to be called Uncle?”

* * *

That afternoon we held a council of war, with only the Original Round Table present, expanded to include Gwaine. Caerleon, Mercia, Gawant, and Nemeth were all in alliance with us, and we were in the middle of negotiations to ally with Essetir. Uncle Merlin still had plans to make alliances with several of the other, much smaller kingdoms we were less friendly with, using the pressure of the fact that we had already formed a strong alliance against the Saxons and thus had a chance of winning. We were only a matter of days away from the end of the second month, with only one left before our time was up and war would come.

“It’s not going to be an easy battle, no matter how many allies we have,” Mother said quietly as we rose from the round table after the discussion came to an end.

“Then it’s a good thing you’ve got one more superb swordsman back,” Gwaine said cheerfully beside me.

Uncle Leon smiled just a bit. “No offence, Gwaine,” he commented, “we’re glad you’re back, but some days it feels like we need Arthur to turn the tide.”

“He’ll be back soon too,” Gwaine said carelessly, not in the least hurt. “Freya as good as told us that he was going to come back for this crisis. Not to mention, with him the only one in our corner of limbo, he’ll drive Freya and the Sidhe crazy until they let him come. Though the princess may prefer being alone to having only had me for company for the last while.”

Even though I knew of Gwaine’s nickname for Father, it made me smile and feel a bit strange to hear it. Uncle Elyan groaned and muttered something about getting very tired of playing mediator all the time. “I don’t think I want to know what you did to Arthur without me there,” he said to Gwaine.

“Nope,” Gwaine agreed cheerfully. “You certainly don’t.” He glanced around at us and suddenly became more serious; putting an arm around me and letting his other hand rest on Uncle Merlin’s shoulder, he said steadily, “Don’t you worry. Arthur will come back soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this was why, when I began drafting ideas for this story in my head, I decided the knights had to come back -- I really wanted Gwaine to be here. I debated messing with 5x13 to keep him from dying before I got the idea of bringing all the knights back instead, which I liked much better. Don't get me wrong, I like the other knights a lot too; but in this group there needs to be someone who can say the most random things and yet be serious too -- in other words, I really wanted Gwaine to be here.
> 
> Next chapter (drumroll, please): "The Coming of Arthur."


	9. The Coming of Arthur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arthur returns.

Mother, Uncle Merlin, and I were in a council meeting a few days after the third month of our reprieve began; all the knights of the original Round Table were out on patrol, except for Uncle Leon, who attended all the meetings about the war with Mother. A messenger had come from Essetir with the final details of that alliance, and the previous day Uncle Merlin had been scouting the Saxon army building up along Caerleon’s border. He had managed to receive permission from Queen Annis to fly over her kingdom on a dragon if it was for scouting purposes only, so he had flown over on Aithusa and, using his magic to enhance his vision, had taken a look at Landin’s army, which was growing as steadily as our alliances were.

“I believe we will have enough men to defeat Landin, even with his sorcerers, once all the alliances are in place,” he told the meeting. “Our problem will be that we have no one to lead our joined army into battle; we will be a mess of individual armies trying to fight one united enemy. My apologies,” he said to Mother, “I know you have skill with a sword, but the armies of the other kingdoms will never follow a woman into battle. We need a leader they would all follow, a leader who could unite them. We need –”

He broke off abruptly and looked away. I knew what he was going to say – we needed Father back to lead this army. The recently returned knights spoke of Freya saying that she had needed to wait for a significant threat before she could send them or Father back, and they all believed that the Saxon threat would bring Father back, but the question hanging over our heads now was when. He would be of little use if he showed up right in the middle of the battle.

At that moment, there was the sound of pounding footsteps on the stairs, and the council room doors were flung open. Uncle Gwaine, who had been out on patrol, burst into the room, flushed and breathless.

“He’s back,” he said.

* * *

There was a long moment of silence before Uncle Leon managed to get out, “You mean Arthur is back?”

“That’s exactly what I mean,” Gwaine said, tossing his windswept hair out of his face. He looked immensely excited and also quite satisfied. “We found him on patrol. He’s riding into the city with the rest of them now – I rode ahead to give you forewarning.”

Mother didn’t wait another moment. “The council is dismissed,” she said breathlessly, and nearly ran to the door.

I was still standing, stunned, when Uncle Merlin’s hand landed on my shoulder; he had gone very white, but his eyes held a wild, eager hope. “Come on,” he said, and led me after Mother.

Uncle Gwaine came down to the front steps of the castle with us, chattering the whole way about how they had found Father out in the forest, and none of the patrol but him had believed it was Arthur (he was the only original knight in it), and how Father had demanded they give him a horse and let him get home as fast as possible. I think none of us were really listening to Gwaine, caught up in our own thoughts, but his inane chatter made me at least a little less nervous.

When we hurried out of the doors and came onto the steps of the castle, we could suddenly hear loud cheering coming from the lower town. For an instant, I wondered if I could make out the cry, “Long live the king!” and my heart skipped a beat.

“The citadel welcomes back its king,” Gwaine said quietly, and slipped away from us.

The three of us stood there on the steps and awaited the king’s return. Mother had hurried to the lowest step and stood there eagerly, straining her eyes for the first sight of Father. Uncle Merlin stood about halfway down the steps, watching the entryway with a strange mix of hope, fear, and longing in his face. I had drifted over to one side and stood near the edge of the steps, feeling wildly excited and terrified. It hit me that in a matter of minutes I would see the father I had never known for the first time in my life, and I was afraid again of how he would react.

The cheering came closer and closer. We didn’t have long to wait.

I could hear the clattering of horses’ hooves on the cobblestones moments before they appeared.

Then King Arthur rode into the courtyard at the head of a small cohort of his knights. In full chain mail, in a red cloak, tall and proud on a white horse, the bright sunlight turning his blond hair into a golden crown, the Once and Future King came back to Camelot.

I stared and stared at my father. He had the strong broad shoulders, the blond hair, the noble face that had been described to me, and he had my blue eyes.

But I didn’t have long to stare, for the moment he had ridden into the courtyard, Mother had leapt off the staircase and flown to meet him, crying, “Arthur! Arthur!”

The first thing I ever heard my father say was in a bright, glad voice, “Guinevere!”

He fairly sprang off his horse and swept Mother into his arms. He swung her around in a circle, her dark red dress flying out and mixing with his Camelot red cloak, her hair streaming out behind her. They were both laughing and crying. Father put Mother down and kissed her soundly, there in the middle of the courtyard.

Galahad had told me once that the advantage of my not having a father was that I didn’t have to watch my parents do embarrassing things like kissing in front of me, but somehow I wasn’t embarrassed. I could only smile through my tears as I watched my parents kiss each other.

They stood for a long moment in each other’s arms after they drew apart, speaking too low for me to hear, their faces glowing with love; then Father gave Mother one last tight hug, let go of her, and continued into the courtyard.

Uncle Merlin had walked down to stand just off the staircase. Father came up to him and quickly pulled him into a tight hug before either of them could say anything. “Merlin, old friend,” he said fervently.

There were tears in Father’s eyes; I couldn’t see Uncle Merlin’s face, but I could tell he was shaking with the sudden emotion of seeing Father again. They held each other for a bit before stepping away; Father reached out to clap his hand on Uncle Merlin’s shoulder. “You haven’t changed,” he said after a moment.

“But –” Uncle Merlin began shakily.

“Not in the ways that matter,” Father said firmly. He squeezed Uncle Merlin’s shoulder and turned away, toward me.

For a half second I was terrified again, that Father wouldn’t know who I was, that he would need someone to introduce his own son to him, that he would go into the castle without acknowledging me. But he looked straight in my eyes, and he was smiling at me.

“My son,” he said eagerly; then he reached out and pulled me into a hug.

Chain mail is a rather hard surface to hug, but as my father pulled me close against his chest, standing on the step below me, his arms strong around me, I couldn’t help wrapping my arms around him and pulling him as close as I possibly could. He tightened the hug in return.

“Amhar,” he whispered to my dark curls. “I’m so proud of the young man you’re becoming. I couldn’t have asked for a more wonderful son.”

My father had come back. He was real and tangible under my arms, against my chest.

“Father,” I whispered softly in return.

Standing there, held close in my father’s arms for the first time in my life, I felt safe as I never had before.


	10. The King in Camelot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone adjusts to Arthur being back.

When we had withdrawn into one of the rooms in the castle, there was silence for a long moment. Mother and Father were standing hand in hand, Mother leaning up against Father’s side and both of them looking perfectly content to stay just where they were, but by his face Uncle Merlin shared my complete lack of knowledge of what to say just then.

For some reason I suddenly remembered talking with Uncle Merlin about Excalibur, that night a few months ago when we grieved on the shores of Avalon, and I blurted out, “Do you have Excalibur with you, Father?”

Merlin looked up curiously too. Father smiled and let go of Mother to put his hand on his swordhilt. “Freya sent it back with me,” he said. “She told me it belonged with me, and I might need it.” He drew it swiftly and held it up before him.

I drew closer, studying the ornate sword with interest; I’d never before seen a sword forged in a dragon’s breath. Father held it out for me to take. “It’s a beautiful sword,” I said softly, taking it in my hands and studying the runes carved into it.

“Leon has trained you to be a good swordsman yourself,” Father commented. “Do you have your sword around?”

“It’s in my room,” I said, handing Excalibur back. “Do you want me to get it?”

Father, I thought, looked almost shy. “I’d like to see what you’ve learned myself,” he told me.

“I’ll get it right away!” I exclaimed, smiling broadly; it had been one of my childhood fantasies for my father to spar with me like my uncles did. I hurried from the room; somewhat to my surprise, Uncle Merlin followed me.

“I’ll just give the two of them a moment,” he explained when I glanced at him inquisitively. “Go get your sword, Dragon.”

I grinned widely at him and took off running up the corridors, feeling very jumbled and overjoyed all at once. Father had come back, and he did love me, he was proud of me. For the first time in my life, my family could be complete. It was almost too much to take in.

I fetched the sword and, running back, had reached the end of the hallway leading back to the room where the others were when I realized that Father was just emerging from the room to speak to Uncle Merlin, standing against the wall on the far side of the hallway. Not wanting to interrupt, I skidded to a stop and stood where I thought I was out of sight – and I’m afraid I eavesdropped.

“Merlin,” Father began, stressing the first syllable a bit.

Uncle Merlin bent his head and turned toward Father. “I’m sorry, sire,” he said suddenly, and then words were flowing from him in a torrent, as though he had waited years to say it all. “For not being able to keep you from dying, for failing to find a way to save you, for all the lies and everything I never told you, for changing –”

He broke off, out of breath and near tears. Father quickly put his hand on his shoulder.

“Stop blaming yourself, Merlin,” he said gently. “You weren’t the only one at fault. I’ve had years to come to terms with it all, and I know quite well now why you would have been too afraid to ever tell me. I’m sorry for everything I said against magic, for making it so that you couldn’t trust me, for taking you for granted, for what happened with Freya.”

He looked up then and saw me at the end of the hallway; squeezing Uncle Merlin’s shoulder, he stepped back. “You have your sword, Amhar?” he called brightly.

“I brought it,” I said shyly, feeling rather as if I’d interrupted something important.

Father, though, smiled at me. “Come, show me what you’ve learned!” he said, stepping back into the room.

I came forward to follow, shooting Uncle Merlin an apologetic look. The smile he gave me back was almost his full, happy one, though, so I stopped worrying about it.

Father had drawn Excalibur again when I came into the room, and we sparred back and forth for a bit. Father, I could tell, was holding back a bit, but I gave my all to the mock fight, and when we drew apart for breath, Father beamed at me.

“You’ve been trained well,” he told me proudly. “Well done, son.”

I couldn’t have hid my smile at those words if I’d tried. At that moment, however, someone knocked at the door, and at Father’s, “Come in!” Uncle Leon stepped into the room.

“Leon!” Father exclaimed, and stepped forward to clasp forearms with him; he pulled Leon close, and they clapped each other on the back. “Thank you for everything you have done for Camelot,” Father said sincerely.

Uncle Leon smiled. “I was pleased to do it, sire,” he said sincerely. “And I’m sorry to interrupt, but there are many who have realized their king is back and would like to see you.”

Father sighed and nodded. “I’ll come,” he said, and turned to us. “Gwen, Amhar, we must dine together tonight.”

“Of course,” Mother said, beaming. Father smiled back at her before he left the room.

I followed him long enough to see him meet both Percival and Gaius, who welcomed him warmly, before I slipped off to put my sword back in my room.

* * *

Dinner that night in Mother’s parlor was strange but delightful. It was the first time I’d ever eaten with both my parents, and we filled Father in on the significant events of my lifetime; he’d seen most of them from Avalon by Freya’s scrying, of course, but we talked them over together now.

Mother told Father of how magic had been carefully reintroduced to Camelot, the ban lifted piece by piece to avoid panic, and of how all our allies had followed, so that it was now finally safe to be a sorcerer again. There was still prejudice among some people that would probably linger for some time, but in our citadel and town we had nearly moved past that by now. Father was warmly approving of everything Mother had done to help magic be accepted, and I realized with relief that Uncle Merlin’s fears that Father wouldn’t accept the return of magic were unfounded.

I told Father about riding Aithusa when he asked me what I liked to do and told him he would have to fly with me someday.

“It’s the most wonderful thing there is!” I assured him, when he looked both nervous and skeptical. “You can see the world, and you’re up in the sky, weightless and free. I finally got Uncle Merlin to let us go high enough to touch a cloud the last time we flew! And flying will make Uncle Merlin smile, too – you _have_ to let him take you the next time Aithusa comes in.”

“How do you hang on?” Father asked. “From what I remember of seeing a dragon fly, it looked like it would be a very bumpy ride.”

“Oh, you have to hang on tight,” I assured him. “That’s half the fun – when you lift off Aithusa’s back for a moment at the peak of her flap. But Uncle Merlin won’t let you fall, and neither would Aithusa. Ask Lancelot or Anna – they agree with me that flying is pretty much the best thing in the world.”

Father was smiling a bit at my enthusiasm. “Have you gone flying, Gwen?” he asked Mother.

“Once,” she said firmly, “and only once. I realized that it was probably safer than I thought, but that I’d rather keep my feet on the ground. But you should go sometime, just for the experience.”

“You have to come at least once,” I begged, thinking how much fun it would be to have my father in the sky with me.

“Alright,” he capitulated. “When the dragon shows up and we have time, I’ll go on one flight.”

I beamed at him.

* * *

The next morning, when I had woken up and gotten dressed, I headed directly toward Mother’s small parlor where she and I always had breakfast together, no matter how busy we were. Only when I was halfway there did I begin to wonder if we’d have breakfast as usual or not; Father and Mother had gone off hand in hand last night after hugging me goodnight (I didn’t think I’d ever get tired of the security of Father’s hugs, and it was a lot more comfortable to be hugged when he was wearing a normal tunic instead of chainmail). Instead of heading to Mother's chambers, they had been going toward Father's old chambers, which had lain unoccupied since before my birth. I wondered rather nervously if they would dine with just each other this morning or if they would come to the parlor and eat with me.

To my relief, when I reached the parlor, they were both there, kissing each other in the middle of the room. They broke off when I came in.

“Morning, Amhar,” Mother said, her smile brighter than usual today, coming around toward the table, which was already laden with food.

“Morning, Mother,” I answered.

“Good morning, Amhar,” Father said, and that was not in the usual routine. Hearing his voice still made me smile a bit as I echoed his greeting.

“Merlin should be here any moment,” Father commented. “I asked him to come up and eat with us.”

“That’s good,” I said at once, not really able, even in my mind, to articulate why I still needed him close when I had Father here but knowing it was true all the same.

“We need to have a meeting of the Round Table today,” Father said, sitting down.

“The original group, or the one with all the advisors?” Mother asked.

“Both, probably,” Father admitted. “And I need to make a speech to the people this afternoon, to explain my being back and that I’ll take up the kingship now, and so on. I’ll need Merlin to write that for me.”

“You mean it was Merlin who always wrote all your speeches?” Mother asked with a rather mischievous smile. “No wonder they sounded so nice.”

“Are you saying I’m not eloquent?” Father asked her.

“It depends on the subject,” Mother replied, laughing and giving him a loving glance.

Seeing my parents kiss wasn’t all that awkward for me, but I was beginning to wonder if I would be uncomfortable with their flirting. Luckily at that moment, Uncle Merlin arrived and rescued me.

* * *

When we had finished breakfast, Father and Uncle Merlin sat down to write the speech, or rather Uncle Merlin wrote it and Father divided his attention between him and Mother, who was dealing with some paperwork from arrests the patrols had made recently of men suspected to be Saxon spies. I was working on an assignment my tutor had given me two weeks ago, to analyze the account of a failed treaty effort between Camelot and Mercia some fifty years ago at least, and the war that had followed. I was to work out what the parties could have done differently during the treaty so that it didn’t lead to war, and how the tactics Camelot had used in the war could have been improved so that they didn’t lose the first few major battles. I had had next to no concentration for this project recently, what with all the more exciting events going on in Camelot, and I was barely paying attention to it now, listening to the way Father and Mother talked about her paperwork, their tones making their ordinary words sound more like sweet nothings than anything, and Father and Uncle Merlin’s occasional conversations about the speech. They were planning to say that it hadn’t been Father’s time to leave permanently, and that the same wonderful magic that had brought the already accepted knights back had brought the King back too.

“I think you’ll want to mention you’re the Once and Future King,” Merlin remarked presently, scribbling rapidly on his parchment. “The druids will know what you mean and realize that this is your future. They might manage to calm down the people who will be skeptical of a dead man taking the kingship back up.”

“The druids are trusted enough for that?” Father asked, a very thoughtful look on his face. Uncle Merlin was reading what he’d written, so he didn’t see the look, but he did tense as he shrugged.

“They’re strange enough that some of them have acquired quite the reputation for wisdom,” he remarked dryly.

“Does magic always give its users an innate, strange wisdom?” Father asked, looking right at Uncle Merlin. This time he looked up, a pleased smile hovering around his lips.

“I don’t really think so,” he said lightly. “Only those of us who are special have that.”

“Very special indeed,” Father retorted, but somehow I didn’t think it was as mocking as he meant it to sound. Uncle Merlin just beamed at him and turned back to the parchment; I thought I had seen Uncle Merlin’s real smile more times this morning than any other morning I ever remembered, and it made me feel oddly safe despite the danger.

Mother left presently to deliver her paperwork to Uncle Leon, and I left the table to curl up in a more comfortable chair and continue trying to work; I didn’t want to be anywhere else at the moment.

Presently Uncle Merlin straightened his parchment. “I think you should have an acceptable speech now, and without my staying up all night to write it,” he commented, smiling a bit.

Father took the speech and thanked Uncle Merlin for it, but neither of them seemed in a hurry to leave. After a few minutes, quite out of the blue, Father said, “My wife and I suspect we know why my chambers were so clean when we retired to them last night.”

Uncle Merlin’s smile was small and stilted, and I suddenly remembered all the years he had cleaned Father’s rooms on the anniversary of his death. “I told you once,” he said softly, “that I am happy to be your servant till the day I die.”

“I imagine there was a reason you said that beyond what I could see,” Father commented.

He didn’t sound at all irritated, but Uncle Merlin’s eyes were suddenly dark with pain, and he buried his face in his hands.

“I swear to you, Arthur,” he said quietly through them, “I didn’t want to hide everything I did from you. But at first I was afraid for my life, and then I didn’t want to come between you and your father, and in the end there was such a tangled web of lies between us that I didn’t dare try to cut through it. I didn’t want you to think me a traitor.”

“And in the process you became utterly alone, and it nearly broke you,” Father said gently, his voice sounding understanding. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that even before Camlann your smiles were hardly real anymore.” He hesitated for a moment, before adding, “Why did you sound like you were saying goodbye when you told me about always being my servant, anyway?”

Uncle Merlin lifted his head from his hands but didn’t look at Father. “You were dying from the venom of the Questing Beast,” he said simply, blankly. “I was saying goodbye. I fully intended to exchange my life for yours.”

Father stared at him, looking horrified. “Merlin,” he said at last, “someday I swear I will break you of saying your life is less than mine and trying to throw it away for me.”

Uncle Merlin smiled just a bit, a rather bittersweet smile. “It’s my destiny to keep you safe, Arthur,” he said softly.

“And there was nothing more you could have done to fulfill it at Camlann,” Father said firmly. “You’ve been living in the shadow of that all these years – I don’t blame you, we all have. But I’m back now. You need to step out and live in the light.”

Uncle Merlin didn’t say anything, and after a moment Father went on. “We both made mistakes when it came to your magic years ago,” he said. “But we both about it know now; I’ve come to terms with it, and I’m glad you have it. You needn’t look so astonished,” he said as Merlin suddenly met his eyes, looking shocked. “I’ve watched from the lake as you’ve use it to defend my kingdom when I couldn’t even be there, and I heard stories from those I was with in Avalon and from watching you tell Amhar stories of how you used it to protect me and Camelot even when you risked your life every time you dared use it.”

“So you know all my secrets now?” Merlin asked, looking torn between relieved not to have to tell them and sorrowful that he had never had the chance.

“Not all,” Father said. “And I’d rather hear the stories direct from you, when I can ask the questions I wanted to. But apart from us finding time for storytelling, the past is the past, Merlin. Can we move forward with your magic being a fact?”

Uncle Merlin’s eyes were shining with tears. “I’ve never wanted anything else,” he whispered.

“Good,” Father said briskly. “And as part of that, let me make it clear that you are not to clean my chambers again.”

Merlin frowned. “What do you want me to do, then?” he asked uncertainly. “You said often enough that I had no talent for anything else – and that I was a horrible servant anyway.”

“I was too harsh,” Father admitted freely, which made Uncle Merlin stare at him blankly. “I had no idea I’d spend years on Avalon’s borders with far too much time to look back on what I did wrong and wish I could have learned to say what I truly meant when I still lived.”

“You’re not the only one who’s thought of all they did wrong,” Merlin murmured, mostly to himself.

“I know,” Father said. “So leaving the past behind, I don’t want you to serve me as a servant any longer – I can hire someone else to do that. I want you to be my advisor, the sorcerer at my side. I don’t want you to go back to living in the shadows.”

I don’t think Uncle Merlin could say anything at that moment, for he stared at Father with tears in his eyes, then gave a jerky nod and left the room. But I could tell they were the happiest tears of his life.

* * *

Later that morning, we gathered for a meeting of the Original Round Table, which I assumed would mostly focus on how we were going to defeat the Saxons now that we had Father here. Lancelot, Percival, Leon, Elyan, and Gwaine all showed up in shining armor and their long red cloaks; Gaius came from his chambers, and as I joined them and went to stand at my place, I realized there was one more chair at the table than I was used to their being at meetings like this. For Father, of course.

Mother came in and stood at her place beside me; then Father and Uncle Merlin followed her. Father strode forward confidently to stand at the table by Mother’s side, as if he had taken his place here a thousand times before, and I could see him suddenly as the great king Uncle Merlin always described him as. To my surprise, Merlin hung back, looking uncertain whether he had a place at the table he had always been a vital part of since I was a tiny child, but Father waved him toward the empty seat on his left.

When we had all taken our places, Father rose and stood straight, the golden crown he was wearing shining in the light streaming through the room.

“My first act as the returned King of Camelot,” he said strongly, “is to confirm the Queen’s proclamation that magic and those who use it are legal throughout our lands.”

It was not the topic that we had expected him to speak about, but his saying this felt right, as though he could not have said anything else. Smiles broke out on all the knights’ faces; Gaius looked suddenly content and peaceful, as though something he had longed for all his life had come to pass at last. Uncle Merlin simply stared at Father, his eyes wide and filled with hope.

“My second act,” Father went on, “is to confirm my friend Merlin in his rightful role as Court Sorcerer and First Advisor of Camelot. After everything he has done for the kingdom, selflessly and unthanked, he more than deserves this role.”

There was a brief silence, in which Uncle Merlin’s eyes filled with tears; then Uncle Gwaine leapt to his feet and began clapping as hard as he could. The rest of the knights quickly followed suit.

“Good for you, Merlin!” Lancelot said warmly, clapping himon the back. All the knights congratulated him; Gaius drew him into a hug and said something about how proud he was of him. I had been too young to remember the first time Mother made Uncle Merlin Court Sorcerer, but I was quite certain that this outpouring of joy and thanks hadn’t been what happened then. Now Uncle Merlin was surrounded by his friends, who were joyous for his confirmation of his magical role.

He was smiling his bright, broad smile through his tears by the time Father stepped up to him. “Thank you, Arthur,” he said softly.

Father clasped forearms with him. “No, Merlin,” he said steadily. “Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dealing with the Saxon threat will resume next chapter, but I thought I needed to take some time here to begin putting Gwen, Merlin, and Amhar's fears about Arthur's return safely to rest.


	11. Of the High King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Camelot and the other kingdoms of Albion go to war.

After Father’s return, the meetings discussing the Saxon threat changed. Father took over the planning of the battle with a firm authority that showed how many times he had done this before. Riders had gone out to the different kingdoms and armies already allied with us to tell them King Arthur had come back and would be leading them into battle, and Uncle Merlin visited the few remaining kingdoms, mostly on traveling on Aithusa to save time, and secured final alliances. Father, meanwhile, used the information Uncle Merlin brought about the Saxon camp from spying on Aithusa to make battle plans, figuring out how the armies allied with us would fight Landin’s camp and how the sorcerers we had on our side would be most strategically placed.

This brought up the question one afternoon of where Uncle Merlin would be.

“I’ll not be standing on a hill flashing lightning this time,” he told Father fiercely, and there was that look of sharp pain like shattered glass in his eyes that he gets around the bad time of year. “I’ll be right by your side, defending you. I’m _not_ going to let you fall again, Arthur, not if there is _anything_ I can do to prevent it!” There was a strange sort of defiance in his voice.

I couldn’t read Father as well as I could Uncle Merlin yet, but even I could tell that his eyes and voice were very gentle as he said, “Of course you’re not. Where else would you be, anyhow?

* * *

Everything had changed that third month, not just the way Father took over leading all the meetings about the war. Camelot’s army was planning to be ready to leave the city to head to Caerleon's border two weeks before the month would be done, and the army as well as its suppliers and dozens of healers and physicians were building up in the city, preparing for the march. Everyone was ridiculously busy: Uncle Merlin was away building up alliances and spying as often as he was in Camelot; Father was absorbed in planning how the battle would go; and Mother was coordinating all the arrivals in Camelot and planning our departure. All the knights were busy too, of course. It left us with very little time to spend together, and left me feeling very useless. Father, Mother, and I ate breakfast together every day no matter what, though, and as I slowly got to know my father a little, Camelot began to feel like home in a way I had never known it to before.

“I shall hate to leave this place and go to war so soon,” Father commented as we rose from breakfast five days before we were to leave Camelot.

He looked at me and Mother as he finished his sentence, making it clear that he hated to leave us more than the place. Mother stepped toward him with a small smile.

“I shall go with you, Arthur,” she told him steadily.

“It’s too dangerous, Guinevere,” Father protested, using her full name in the way only he does.

“Arthur.” Mother took his hands in hers and looked up into his eyes. “None of us knows what the outcome of this battle will be. I lost you before, and I could lose you again.” Her voice shook over the words, and rather to my surprise Father’s eyes filled with tears. I could see he wanted to protest that idea, though he didn’t. “If these few weeks are to be all the time I have with you, I don’t want to live the rest of my life knowing that I spent any part of them away from your side. Besides,” she added softly, reaching up to stroke his hair, “if you lose, it will only be a matter of time until I fall anyway. But you will not lose.”

Father’s smile was wistful. “I’ve missed you, Guinevere,” he said, and leaned in to kiss her. I looked away, giving them their moment, knowing Father had lost the argument. But when they broke apart, I said suddenly, “Then I’m going too.”

Mother turned to me and frowned sharply. “No,” she said, in the exact same tone she used when I first asked if I could fly Aithusa.

“I don’t want to lose these last few weeks either,” I told her. “Mother, you have to let me go.”

Mother’s eyes were filling with tears. “But I can’t watch you die,” she whispered.

“Where has your faith that we’ll win gone?” Father asked her, just a bit teasingly.

Mother spun on him. “You can’t mean that you think he should come!” she exclaimed.

Father glanced from me to her, troubled. “I don’t want him to come,” he answered frankly. “But I think it would be worse if we left him behind to wait without anyone here, and all the knights are coming, Gwen. But we will defend him and you to the bitter end.”

Mother choked back a sob, but after a moment she nodded. Father motioned to me, and I came forward to join them; Father put his hand on my shoulder, and Mother wrapped her arm tightly around me. We stood together as a family for a moment.

But my determination to go had really started years and years ago when Mother brought me with her to every council meeting she had, when she took me everywhere as she ran the kingdom. I had been there every step of the way for my whole life, even when I was too young to have any clue what was going on. I would not step away from being at the front of what it meant to lead the kingdom now, even if it was going into the jaws of death.

* * *

Essetir’s army arrived in Camelot late that afternoon, and we were in the courtyard to meet them when they appeared. The Knights of the Original Round Table stand with Father, Mother, Uncle Merlin, and me at the signing of the treaty starting Albion. As they are some of the most powerful people in the kingdom and close friends of the royal family, it was fitting. Uncle Gwaine, of course, says that the reason he enjoys it is that everyone thinks he’s dead and the looks on their faces when they realize he’s not are delightful. Uncle Lancelot thinks he shouldn’t take such pleasure in that, and there are times when I think Gwaine deliberately emphasizes it to provoke that reaction. Gwaine is far too fond of reactions.

King Lot was an older man, powerfully built and with a perpetual scowl on his face, but he clasped hands with Father amicably after he managed to recover from the shock that visibly crossed his face at seeing so many once-dead men standing at attention to meet him.

“We thank you for joining with us for this fight,” Father said, sounding rather stuffy and official, which nearly made me laugh for some reason.

“We would have had to fight it sooner or later,” Lot commented shortly. “Might as well do it by your side.” He acknowledged Mother, me, and Merlin briefly before asking, “So where do we lodge for the night?”

“You will stay in the castle,” Father answered. “My wife has prepared accommodations for your men. We leave for Caerleon in five days.”

“We shall be ready,” Lot told him.

“What sort of a king is he like?” I asked Uncle Merlin as we went back into the castle and King Lot was out of earshot.

“A strong king, but one who rules by earning the fear rather than the respect of his people,” he told me. I thought that sounded a lot like Grandfather Uther.

“Not a king you want to emulate,” Father told me as he came up to us; I hadn’t realized he had overheard the question.

“No, you want to be a king like your father instead,” Uncle Merlin retorted teasingly.

Father’s lips twitched as he picked up the lighthearted tone. “Of course,” he said cheerfully. “You should emulate every aspect of what I do, Amhar.”

“Except how grumpy he can be in the mornings, and his habit of throwing things at defenseless servants, and –” Uncle Merlin began.

“Defenseless?” Father cut him off. “I didn’t realize I was throwing things at a ridiculously powerful sorcerer!”

Merlin tensed, as he almost always did when Father referenced his magic, but Father was just grinning at him, so after a moment he grinned back. “You thought you were throwing things at a defenseless servant, at least,” he retorted. “And your habit of using me as training dummy, and –”

Mother caught up with us at that moment. “Lot has brought more men with him than I thought,” she told Father, utterly ignoring the friendly argument in progress between him and Uncle Merlin. “It’s good for the war, of course, but I shall have to stretch accommodations.”

“We’ll find a way,” he reassured her, reaching to take her hand. When Father and Mother were in the vicinity of each other, they were almost always touching each other in some small way, as if they both needed the reassurance that they were together and neither of them was dying or going away yet.

They left together to deal with Lot’s men. “I wish this whole mess was over,” I heard Mother say a bit wearily as they disappeared.

I agreed heartily. We had been dealing with this threat for the last three months, and the nearer we came to actually facing it, the more difficult it became to deal with, as I knew Mother was having to consider how to give all the kings and queens joining our army their own place in it without causing any petty infighting to break out among them, not to mention the actual battle we had yet to fight.

But then I remembered that this threat had given Freya the ability to send back my father and his knights, and I couldn’t regret that it had happened.

* * *

Gawant’s army appeared in Camelot two days later, led by the Queen Elena and her husband. They arrived earlier in the day, and we saw them approaching from the castle walls before they reached Camelot.

“The lady Elena appears to be as excellent of a horsewoman now as she ever was,” Uncle Merlin commented to Father, grinning.

I smiled too, remembering that story about the Sidhe princess Father had nearly been forced to marry.

Father groaned. “She was – an interesting person,” he admitted. “Did you really cast a Sidhe out of her, Merlin?” At Uncle Merlin’s inquisitive glance, he added, “I watched you telling some of this story to Amhar.”

“Yes, I did,” Merlin admitted. “But you were the one who made the final decision not to marry her.”

“I’m not sure I would have without your advice,” Father told him. “But I’m very glad I did.” He turned to smile at Mother; his hand lay over hers on the wall before us. She rewarded him with a bright look and a kiss.

“This time I hope we have enough accommodations,” she commented when we were headed down to the courtyard. “It’s a good thing we’re leaving Camelot soon, or between our armies and our allies’, we’d soon have no room.”

When the vanguard of Gawant’s army came into our courtyard, the queen sprang off her horse lightly and without assistance. She was smiling as she came up to Father; she scarcely seemed bothered that she was facing a king and three knights who had been dead.

“It would seem we both found the love we deserved,” she said cheerfully, nodding to Mother. “But I daresay I could still beat you in a horse race.”

“I shall not dare challenge you to one,” Father told her, smiling. “We are most grateful for your help,” he added, his voice holding more sincerity and less formality than it had the day before.

Elena waved him off. “Of course,” she said. “We would have been honored to fight by your side for the sake of our old alliance, even if we were not in danger ourselves. Now may I introduce my husband, Maxwell?”

* * *

Three days afterwards, a massive company left Camelot, including our army and the armies of Essetir and Gawant and the royal families of all three kingdoms. I rode alongside Mother and Uncle Merlin; Father rode at the head of the whole company, as the High King in command, and we marched out to face the Saxons.

When we were far enough away that I could look back and see the citadel, I turned in my seat and looked back at Camelot. In spite of all the business, the worry over what lay ahead, in the last two weeks since Father’s return Camelot had begun to feel like home as it never had before. We had feasted our allied kings and queen after their arrival, and as Elena and Maxwell were both cheerful conversationalists, the feast had been quite pleasant, but the last night before we left Camelot, Father, Mother and I had dined together with no one else, and the citadel where I had lived all my life had finally felt like a home to me.

I knew very well I could lose that on this campaign. We could lose to the Saxons altogether, in which case we would all die; or Father, Uncle Merlin, or any of the knights I called Uncle could fall in battle. And if even one of them fell, Camelot would never feel like home to me again.

The castle vanished behind a ridge, and I squared my shoulders and faced forward. This was no time for fear; I would have to be brave and wring every drop of joy I could out of these last days I had with the people I loved, and pray we would all come home safely. There was nothing else I could do.

* * *

In spite of the danger, there were days when our journey across Camelot felt more like a camping trip we might do for fun than a war campaign. We were traveling through areas of the kingdom I’d never seen before, and at night our Original Round Table group sat around the fire and chatted together.

Uncle Gwaine apparently shared my opinion, for he said one night, “When we all make it back to Camelot, we need to leave the castle – take a camping trip or a hunting trip or something and get off together.” He nudged Father, who was rather lost in thought. “You remember how you loved hunting, right?”

Uncle Merlin groaned. “Why do you have to be so insistent on bringing up hunting?” he protested. “I’m happy enough without that coming back.”

Father grinned at him. “The moment we get back to Camelot, we are going on a hunting trip,” he announced promptly.

Gwaine smiled triumphantly; Uncle Merlin turned away with an exaggerated look of despondency.

“What was being in the Lake of Avalon like?” Uncle Leon asked one night around the campfire. He said it as if it had been on his mind for a while, but he had only now worked up the courage to ask it.

“Like being in a lake,” Gwaine said, grinning.

“Hardly,” Elyan retorted. “The Lady of the Lake had found a way for us to be under the water, but never wet. We could explore the lake –”

“There are some fascinating caverns under it,” Gwaine interrupted him.

“And she could scry almost anywhere we wanted and show us what was going on on the underside of the surface of the lake,” Elyan went on, ignoring Gwaine with the effortlessness of long practice.

“Arthur would have spent all his time watching Camelot if Freya could have kept it up all day,” Gwaine added unrepentantly.

That comment made me feel rather warm.

“How did Freya make this place?” Mother asked, curiously.

“I don’t know the details,” Lancelot told her, “but she told me when I first came there that she had some ability to see the future, and she could see that all four of us were supposed to come back. So she made a special little corner of Avalon where we could never leave the lake, but we were where we could be called back to life. Maybe it would be more accurate to say she extended the realm she inhabited to include us when we were all buried in the lake.”

“Do you know how she came to inhabit that realm, anyhow?” Father asked Merlin. “We never really understood that.”

Uncle Merlin shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “She – she promised me that she would pay me back. We both had magic, and the lake was magic; perhaps all the magic took her promise and enabled her to live in the lake.”

“She was a lovely person to stay with,” Elyan said. “Shy, but very gracious.”

“And accommodating of four restless men invading her realm and turning it topsy turvy,” Lancelot commented, with a severe glance at Gwaine that made me laugh.

“What?” said knight retorted defensively. “I’ve never been all that good at waiting.”

“She was incredibly forgiving, too,” Father said quietly.

“She never tired of watching you, Merlin,” Uncle Lancelot said softly.

Uncle Merlin shook his head sharply and scrambled to his feet. “Right,” he said, his voice clipped even though it sounded rather choked. He turned away.

“What’s the matter?” Mother asked him, half-rising to her knees.

“Feel free to go on discussing Freya,” Merlin returned shortly, to the knights rather than Mother. “You all know her better than I did, I daresay,” he added with a bitter, ironic smile. He took several steps away.

“I’m sorry,” Uncle Lancelot said at once. “I think – I think we forgot how much she meant to you.”

Merlin shrugged without turning around. “It’s long in the past,” he said quietly.

That wasn’t very comforting to anyone, when it was quite clear that he had never forgotten it.

“At least we kept her company in the lake for a while,” Gwaine commented.

He was trying to be compassionate, but he immediately got glared at by both Lancelot and Father. Uncle Merlin swung back, the shadows highlighting the anger and pain in his face. “

And what becomes of Freya now?” he demanded fiercely. “Alone now that she’s fulfilled her promise to me ten times over by sending you back, unable to be part of the life she sees on the surface of her lake and unable to truly pass on?” His voice shook.

“I asked her what would happen,” Father answered, his voice gentle though he looked very uncomfortable. “She told me that when she looked ahead for herself, there was an end to her being Lady of the Lake; she saw a blank coming and couldn’t tell what it was.”

“So she will properly pass on, and then I can’t even imagine that she can hear my words when I speak to the lake,” Merlin said shortly, old grief clear in his eyes. He spun and walked away from us. This time everyone had the sense not to try stopping him.

There was a tense, uncomfortable silence when he had vanished into the darkness. I was thinking that never till that moment had I known just how much he loved Freya, just how much her loss still hurt. I could understand why he had almost never spoken of her over the years. After a moment, Father got up and quietly followed Uncle Merlin into the night.

* * *

When we came to the border between Camelot and Caerleon, we met Queen Annis and her army. Annis was an older queen by now, with keen eyes; she gave me the sense that she would be someone worthy of being followed and that her favor would be well worth winning.

“Queen Annis,” Father said, dismounting to greet her.

“Arthur,” she returned, smiling a bit as they clasped hands. “I am glad you are returned for this fight.”

“I am glad I came back to fight it,” he answered, “and for your willingness to ally with us.”

She made a derisive noise in her throat. “These Saxons may claim they want to attack Camelot first, but on whose border do they congregate?” she retorted. “They would overrun my land first. I thank you and your sorcerer” – this with a glance at Uncle Merlin – “for allying the kingdoms. None of us would have a chance on our own.”

“Queen Annis would be a leader to emulate, wouldn’t she?” I asked Uncle Merlin later.

“She is a strong, respected ruler,” he told me. “But you could stand to have a little more compassion for servants.” He seemed more amused than annoyed as he said this, however.

When the royals interacted briefly before settling to their tents that night, I noticed that Queen Annis was very frosty to Lot, but she greeted Elena with warmth, almost like a mother with a daughter. I didn’t think it was a coincidence at all that the tents of Essetir and Caerleon were spaced very far apart.

As we traveled across Caerleon over the next several days, we met up with the rest of our allies and their armies. Nemeth was the first, led by Queen Mithian and her husband. The queen greeted Mother, me, and Uncle Merlin along with Father as she dismounted.

“Thank you for helping us,” Father told her sincerely.

“Certainly,” she said. “I am glad you called us together.” She was very sweet to be around; she promptly offered to help Mother with the endless arrangements that came with running a camp that large, and they became quite friendly as they worked together.

She was very frosty, however, to King Odin, who joined us two days later. He was an older man, and his greeting with Father was very reserved on both sides. I felt as though if we didn’t have a common enemy, there would be much more tension between them, which was unsurprising, given what I had been told of their past.

“You give us the best chance we have to fight Landin, and he’s not threatening idly,” Odin said when Father coolly thanked him for coming. “Otherwise I’d be nowhere near this company.”

Mother placed his tent far away from both ours and Mithian’s.

The last army to join with ours came from Deorham, and was led by a shifty-eyed king, Alinor, whom I didn’t trust at all.

“Only eager to please,” he said to Father’s thanks. “Pleasure to be here. Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

“I don’t trust him,” I said to Uncle Merlin, safely out of Alinor’s earshot.

“Being the son of Alined can’t have been good for becoming a trustworthy man,” he observed. “But his kingdom lies in Albion, and we can use all the help we can get.”

“Is his army worth it?” I asked, frowning.

“He wouldn’t dare turn on us, with so many of our loyal allies here,” Uncle Merlin said confidently. “Besides, he has a dragon hanging over his head if he puts a toe out of line.”

That made me remember that Deorham had been one of the places Uncle Merlin had flown on Aithusa, and I laughed in spite of myself at the image of Alinor cringing in terror at the white dragon landing on his towers without regard for their roofs.

Aithusa herself joined us later that evening. Uncle Merlin didn’t really want to bring her into the battle unless he had to, but she was there, ready in case we needed her.

* * *

We reached the borders of Caerleon three days before the third month ended. One gentle slope below us, the vast army of Saxons sprawled over a wide valley floor. Father looked down at them with grim determination in his eyes.

“They will regret ever threating Camelot,” he said steadily.

We made our own sprawling camp at the top of the slope, seven kingdoms brought together in alliance against a common foe, and prepared ourselves.

In three days, war would be joined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thanks for this chapter goes to versaphile for their map of England in the time of "Merlin" (at https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037453/chapters/2069264). I used this map extensively for figuring out where the armies of the different kingdoms would meet. I didn't follow the map exactly -- mostly I flipped Caerleon's and Essetir's locations because of how I'd already envisioned things happening, but it was very useful! Huge thanks also to AMJJ, whose comment when I wrote this on ff.net directed me to versaphile's map -- I'd never have discovered it otherwise.


	12. For the Love of Albion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the kingdoms of Albion fight the Saxons.

I stood by Father in the center of the circle of Mother, Uncle Merlin, and the knights, gathered in the midst of the courts of all the kingdoms, as we watched three knights making their way down to the camp below us under a white flag. Father had decided to give Landin a chance to retreat and take back his threat, now that he saw the alliance gathered against him, but we weren’t trusting Landin much. All three of the knights had magic and could teleport themselves out of the camp if something went wrong.

From where we stood on the top of the slope, we watched as the knights – one of Camelot, one of Nemeth, and one of Caerleon – reached the edge of Landin’s camp; several of Landin’s men came out and led them further into the camp.

“And now we wait,” Father said, letting a hand rest on my shoulder.

I found it rather hard to believe that less than two weeks ago I hadn’t known what my father’s hand on my shoulder felt like.

As it turned out, we didn’t have long to wait. Less than half an hour after the knights were taken into the Saxon camp, there was a massive whirlwind in front of us, and the three knights materialized out of it.

Their leader, Sir Rodney of Camelot, who had once upon a time been Uncle Merlin’s first magical apprentice, stepped forward. “I’m afraid they were most resistant to our suggestion, sire,” he said. “Landin insisted he would crush any paltry resistance that could oppose him. We had to disappear to save our necks.”

Uncle Merlin shot Father a very superior, I-told-you-so look; he had been the one to insist we send magical knights to Landin when Father had proposed trying to parley. Father rolled his eyes at Merlin and turned to address the kings and queens gathered around us, who were shifting and muttering.

“My friends!” he called out. “We have been threatened by a man who thinks by fear and intimidation he can cause the greatest kingdoms to bow before him. But we shall not be intimidated; we shall not be bowed! He fights to conquer, to take over lands not his own. We fight for our homes, to protect our people and lands, to keep safe those we are entrusted to watch over. We have a far greater cause than Landin knows! We shall fight him tomorrow, since he leaves us no other choice. We shall fight to defend our kingdoms, our homes, our future, our honor!”

There was cheering among the royalty and their courts gathered around us, and rather to my surprise a few cries of “Long live the king!” before the group dispersed to prepare for war.

Father, though, stayed for a moment staring at the camp before us, the plain where the battle would be fought, and sighed, his hand still absentmindedly on my shoulder. I could tell he wasn’t looking forward to the battle.

Mother came up and stood beside him. “I wish we didn’t have to fight too,” she murmured softly, “but we have a chance with you here, Arthur. I don’t know if we would have had that without you leading us.”

Father didn’t say anything, just took her hand for comfort, but he was smiling a bit now, and I felt better, too.

* * *

There was very little sleep for anyone that night. We were preparing to attack at first light on the day our three months ran out. Father had been planning the battle strategy with the different rulers for the last several days, and everyone knew their place. We had planned that the signal to move out of camp would be the sorcerers among us flaring the torches high, and that if the Saxons surrendered before they were all dead, horns would be blown to declare the end of the fighting. King Bayard of Mercia had been the last king to join us; unrest in his land had prevented him from arriving as soon as he wished, but he had appeared the day after we set up camp on Caerleon’s border with a large army. There were now eight armies preparing to take on the Saxons and their sorcerers. There was much scurrying about that night as everyone armed and prepared themselves for battle, and the healers and physicians prepared to care for the wounded.

About an hour before dawn, I sat in my family’s tent, watching Father and Uncle Merlin put on their armor; Father had insisted that if Uncle Merlin was going to go into open battle by his side he needed armor. Currently, however, Uncle Merlin was helping Father into his armor, working with an effortless efficiency that amazed me. I had learned with the other squires how to help a knight into his armor, and nobody I had seen had done it as smoothly as he was.

“You’re very good at this, Uncle Merlin,” I said, awed.

“A decade of practice,” Uncle Merlin said lightly, tugging a buckle tight.

Father chuckled. “You wouldn’t be saying that if you could see the first few times he did it,” he remarked. “You were absolutely hopeless at helping me back then, Merlin.”

“I’d hardly ever seen anyone wearing armor, much less tried to help anyone into it,” Uncle Merlin protested. “If you knew how little I actually knew about anything when I first started serving you, you might give me a bit more credit.”

He had said it lightly, but I thought Father looked guilty for a moment. “How did you figure out the armor?” he asked. “I seem to remember you knowing how to help me by the time I faced Valiant.”

It was Uncle Merlin’s turn to chuckle. “I asked Gwen for help,” he admitted, turning to put on his own chain mail. “We were friends, and she was the blacksmith’s daughter. She knew everything there was to know about armor.”

“Helpful,” Father admitted, helping Uncle Merlin fasten on his plate metal. They both took up swords; Father thrust Excalibur firmly into his sheath. I watched them with a lump in my throat. In their mail, armed and stern-faced, they looked very much like men who could lead an army to victory, the king and the warlock; but much as I was trying not to think of it, either or both of them could die today.

Father turned suddenly to Uncle Merlin and put his hand on his shoulder, making Merlin look at him.

“I just wanted to say,” he began awkwardly, then cleared his throat and added decidedly, “Merlin, you’re the bravest man I’ve ever known.”

From the way he said it, the way Uncle Merlin’s eyes widened, I could tell he was referencing something in their past. Father’s face was very sincere, and he shook Merlin’s shoulder a bit for emphasis.

Uncle Merlin suddenly smiled, his wide, full, bright smile, nodded, and stepped back. “Thank you, Arthur,” he said quietly.

Father nodded back; then he resumed his kingly face and strode from the tent. Uncle Merlin and I followed him.

All my uncles, Leon, Percival, Lancelot, Elyan, and Gwaine, waited for us there; Mother was standing by Uncle Elyan’s side, the torchlight reflecting off tears in her eyes even as she faced the coming day with courage in her erect posture and firm lips. Clearly she had been saying goodbye to her brother.

Father looked around at his men, who all watched him solemnly, even Gwaine. “Whatever happens today,” he told them, “I want you to know that it has been an honor for us all to be here together again. I wouldn’t want to go into battle with anyone else by my side.” He drew a deep breath and unsheathed Excalibur. “For the love of Camelot!” he shouted, and the knights took up the chant. “For the love of Camelot!” echoed across our camp.

I had said goodbye more or less to the knights earlier, but now I turned to Uncle Merlin, who was standing next to me. “You have to come back,” I whispered.

He bent a bit to pull me into a tight hug, which I returned, and neither of us could say anything more.

Father was saying goodbye to Mother. There was a terrible solemnity hanging over this preparation for battle, because Father had died the last time the Saxons attacked, and all of us were terrified of losing someone close to us. I’m not sure Father and Mother said much of anything, just held each other close, kissed softly, and whispered their love.

Then Father came to me, even as Uncle Merlin hugged Mother goodbye. Much as he had done the first day I had ever seen him, Father swept me into his arms and pulled me close; I closed my eyes against the tears as I hugged him back. Father was saying something about loving me and being proud of me, but by this time I knew it was all true, not just because he had told me that multiple times but because it showed in the way he treated me every day, and I knew whatever happened I would cling to the memories I had of this month with him for the rest of my life. Neither of us said anything about his coming back, but we both knew he would do everything he could to return from the fighting; it would break us all if he didn’t.

Dawn was coming near, and it was time for the army to move out. Camelot would lead the charge directly down the slope and into Landin’s camp, accompanied by Mercia and Essetir. Caerleon would lead the charge on the Saxon’s left flank, accompanied by Gawant and Cornwall, Odin’s kingdom. The attack on the Saxon’s thinner right flank would be led by Nemeth and supported by Deorham. Torchlight danced along the camps; chain mail clanked; horses whinnied; men braced themselves.

Messenger after messenger came up to Father and told him that their kingdom was ready, braced on the edge of the slope, prepared for battle. Gawant was ready. Mercia was ready. Caerleon was ready. Nemeth was ready. Deorham was ready. Cornwall was ready. Essetir was ready.

At the last, Uncle Leon turned to Father, standing by his side as he had stood for years at Mother’s, and said quietly, “Camelot is ready, my lord.”

Father drew himself erect. He squeezed my shoulder silently; took Mother’s hand one last time and brushed a last hint of a kiss on her lips; looked at Uncle Merlin, who met his eyes with a quiet, steady nod.

King Arthur lifted Excalibur and pointed it forward, and Uncle Merlin set off the signal, his eyes flashing gold and making the torch in Uncle Leon’s hand flare up, a brilliant beacon of flame in the still-dark sky. All along the armies, torches flared up as the sorcerers in the other armies answered the beacon. Distantly it occurred to me that this was the first time I could remember Uncle Merlin performing magic in front of a large group of people without even trying to hide the gold in his eyes.

“For the love of Albion!” Father shouted at the top of his lungs. The cry went up and down the line. “For the love of Albion!”

United as one, for that day no longer eight disparate kingdoms but a unity, fighting together for a single cause, the army of Albion poured over the edge of the slope, following King Arthur to the battle.

* * *

Mother and I stood together on the edge of the slope, her arm tightly around my shoulders, and watched the battle as best we could. The queens Mithian, Elena, and Annis stood with us. The waves of torchlight flowed down the hill as our soldiers bore them in the charge. Landin’s camp must have realized what was going on, for torches were flaring throughout it. As the sky turned gray with the coming dawn, the first armies reached the Saxon camp, and the clang of hundreds of swords suddenly engaging broke the stillness of the predawn.

It became difficult to tell who was whom or what was which as the armies of Albion pressed onwards and became intermixed with each other and tangled up with the Saxons. Here and there over the battle of swords, the places where the magic users tangled with each other became clear as the sun rose overhead – fire flaring unexpectedly, tents collapsing when they clearly should not have, whirlwinds of dust or fire appearing. Now and then we could tell where a whole group of men was thrown violently on their backs when a sorcerer showed up; occasionally lightning flashed sharp from the thin sheen of clouds in the sky, and by that sign we could tell where Uncle Merlin was, as he was the only one to use it. I wished there was a way as easy as that to identify where Father was too; we could only pray he was with Uncle Merlin.

The troops who had been assigned to try dragging wounded men from the battle and tend to them became very busy as the day grew bright, and the infirmaries in camp filled with the groans and screams of the wounded. The healers and physicians were rushed off their feet. Watching the recovery groups bringing in men horribly injured, I suddenly remembered how Uncle Merlin had always insisted that war was to be avoided at all costs; remembered Father’s attempt even at the last minute to solve this issue without war; remembered the story of Father requesting single combat during the long-ago conflict with Caerleon. And I understood at last. War was not something glorious or to be sought out; it was a horrible thing, and its cost was paid in lives, lives which meant as much to someone as Father’s life meant to Mother and me. I closed my eyes and buried my face in Mother’s dress as I had done when I was young and didn’t want to face something; she wrapped her arms around me and tucked my head close against her. I could tell she was crying and hiding it.

But I couldn’t keep my eyes off the battle always; I tugged my head out of Mother’s dress when my fear for those I loved overcame my horror at the screams and looked back at the valley below us, the midmorning sun flashing off chain mail and swords. When I had made out the mess of confusion enough to get a sense of what was going on, I gasped, horrified. It was fairly clear that our swordsmen were more numerous and powerful and were getting the upper hand, but we had been right to fear the numbers of the Saxon’s sorcerers. Where the magical fighting was going on, Landin’s magic users were advancing, and in places, where we had no sorcerer to fight them, they were sweeping aside the ordinary swordsmen before them like chaff.

“Mother—" I gasped, protesting.

“I know,” she whispered, her hand clenched tight on my shoulder. The price of the long persecution of magic and its nonacceptance in the armies of many of the countries we were fighting with lay demonstrated below us.

Suddenly there was a deep, fierce roar of a distant voice. I couldn’t make out any of the words, but I could tell it was the tongue of the dragons.

“Uncle Merlin,” I whispered, tense. “Aithusa!”

Instants later, the white dragon flapped over our heads, her wingbeats strong and steady; even in the daylight, I could see the fierce glow in her eyes. She swooped down on Landin’s magic users who were advancing unimpeded and let loose great blasts of flame. I watched as they were destroyed instantly, half-eager, half-horrified, understanding now why in spite of her pleading to be permitted to help Uncle Merlin had insisted that she wait until he was sure she was needed.

In spite of Aithusa’s assistance, the battle waged on. Hours passed as I stood, frozen, huddling against Mother’s side like a much younger child, the cacophony of endless swords on swords and the screams of the wounded a sharp backdrop to the fierce battle. The banners of the united kingdoms pressed further and further into Saxon territory, led by the dragon banner of Camelot, yet the Saxons refused to yield. In the late afternoon it occurred to me that I had not seen lightning for some time, and I feared suddenly for Uncle Merlin, but not wanting to distress Mother, I said nothing.

Day was segueing into night when at last the sharp cry of the horns rang out across the valley.

I had been drooping with weariness, but at the call of the horns I straightened up at once. From the direction of the sound, Camelot had been the first to wind the horn, but the call spread all up and down the line of warriors as the kingdoms agreed to the ceasefire and passed the news on. There were a few remaining skirmishes where some of the Saxons didn’t seem to get the idea, but within half an hour of the sounding of the first horn fighting had ceased.

Silence fell over the valley, and everything seemed hushed for a long moment as the threat passed. For it was clear that we had won; our banners were deep in what had once been Saxon territory now. Mother sank to her knees, and I fell to the ground with her, worn out now that the threat had passed. Aithusa flew back, wings battered and head hanging tiredly low, and landed with a thump outside the royal tent. At least I knew she had survived, but I was still terrified whether Father, Uncle Merlin, and the knights had made it through the terrible struggle.

* * *

The armies began slowly straggling back into camp, utterly exhausted and bringing their wounded with them. The queens dispersed to meet their own men. There was an air of subdued euphoria over the whole camp; the battle had been won, but everyone was exhausted and the count of the dead was high. And there was the continuing tension of who had made it out of the battle, or who it was that lay unmoving in clumps on the valley floor.

A small group broke out of the stream of Camelot’s army coming back to camp and came toward us; Mother gave a cry and ran toward them. The last dying rays of the setting sun shone on Father’s gold hair as I chased swiftly after her.

My father stood in the middle of a small circle of men. Mother had thrown herself into Father’s arms, not trying to hold back her tears; I nudged against them, needing to feel Father solid against me, and he wrapped an arm around my shoulders. He was dirty and disheveled, bleeding from several cuts, but _he was alive_. I hid my face against his side and let the reality sink in that my father had survived the battle he had been sent back to lead. He had not been sent back to save Camelot and fall fighting for her; he was still alive, and I would have my father in my life.

When that thought had at last sunk into my tired brain, I drew back and looked around for Uncle Merlin; for an instant I panicked, wondering if he was gone, before I saw him, leaning against Uncle Percival as if the big knight was all that was keeping him on his feet. His normally pale face was gray; his chainmail was cracked, and he was bleeding from an odd variety of cuts, but he, too, was alive. I quickly put my arms around him, trying to be gentle, and he embraced me back.

“I came back, Little Dragon,” he whispered, his voice worn and hoarse, probably from casting spells constantly. I clung to him tightly, shaking as the emotion of the day swept over me.

Looking around from the security of Uncle Merlin’s embrace, I realized that all the knights had come back. Uncle Gwaine was standing near me, leaning on his sword and teasing Father and Mother shamelessly about how attached at the hip they were; Uncle Lancelot’s hair was dark with blood, but he was alive and watching us all with a tired smile on his lips; Uncle Elyan was leaning on a disheveled Uncle Leon, his dark arm bound and bloodstains running down it.

None of the group had made it out completely unscathed, but everyone I loved who had gone into that battle had lived. I slumped against Uncle Merlin and let the tears come. We had faced the Saxon invasion – the moment of Albion’s greatest need that had called Father back – and we had come out intact.

We were free.

* * *

Rather late the next morning, the Original Round Table met in the royal tent over breakfast. We had all slept soundly and long the night before, recovering from the fighting and the stress, but now it was time we discussed what came next. The knights sat or lounged around the tent, their various wounds bound and bruises showing around the edges of their clothing, but chipper and bright, for we had won the battle that had been hanging over our heads for the last three months. A genuine smile was hovering continually around Uncle Merlin’s lips as he sat at the table with Father and Mother, both of whom were glowing with quiet joy. I couldn’t keep from smiling over and over again to myself when I remembered that the battle had been fought and we were all still here.

“The end of the battle came when we killed Landin,” Father told us. “He had himself well protected, and reaching him was not easy, but when he was gone his second-in-command promptly surrendered to us. The Saxons are not gone, however, and I want to make a treaty with those of them who remain to prevent them gathering an army and attacking us periodically again hereafter.”

With that the meeting became rather like most of the council meetings at home, as the group worked to get the wording of the treaty right. Sitting on several cushions, I nearly fell asleep again, soothed by the familiarity of the discussion; precise wordings of laws, treaties, or edicts were something we dealt with constantly in council meetings at home.

Father was getting to the clause where the Saxons were to agree to never invade any of our alliance again. “This is a lot of kingdoms to write out,” he complained to Uncle Merlin, who had made Father do the writing of the treaty, claiming it would carry more weight if a king wrote it. “Besides, what if we gain more allies in the future? Would we have to make a new treaty to protect them?”

Uncle Merlin sat up suddenly, a gleam in his tired eyes. “Just write that they are to stay out of Albion,” he said firmly.

“What exactly is this Albion anyhow?” Uncle Percival asked.

Merlin glanced quickly at Father. “All the kingdoms used to be part of it,” he explained softly. “Arthur was prophesied to reunite them, so we could probably define Albion as all the kingdoms under our protection.”

Father looked torn between being troubled and intrigued. “Alright, then,” he said. “Albion will be our term.”

He added it to the document before leaning back in his chair, adding lightly, “So I’m supposed to be king of eight nations, eh, Merlin?”

Uncle Merlin looked relieved at that comment. “Don’t get a bigger head than you already have over it,” he scolded. “It’s not that impressive.”

“Says the man who always told me I would be the greatest king Camelot had ever known,” Father mocked.

"Yes, well, I said Camelot, not Albion," Uncle Merlin told him.

"There was no king of Albion when you said that," Father informed him. "And as I am to be the first king to reunite it, I shall also be its greatest."

"There were kings of Albion before it splintered," Merlin shot back.

"None of them reunited it, though," Father said loftily, turning back to the treaty with the air of a man dropping an argument when he knew he was ahead.

* * *

We had the treaty ready to be signed by noon, and once again, knights who could teleport went to carry the message to the Saxon camp. Sir Rodney did not lead them this time, however; he had fallen in the battle. The knights came back on foot and safe with the news that the Saxon leaders would come to sign the treaty that night.

In the afternoon I found Uncle Merlin gently binding up Aithusa’s wings and minor wounds and went over to sit by him. Despite the fact that she looked exhausted and her white skin was marred in multiple places where spells had been shot at her, Aithusa looked happier and prouder than I ever remembered seeing her.

“Yes, Aithusa,” Uncle Merlin said patiently, as if this was the twenty-first time he’d said it, “you did save Arthur’s life. You can consider whatever ridiculous debt you’re carrying around in your head canceled now.”

“Hey, Uncle Merlin,” I said, coming to sit against Aithusa’s warm side; clearly in a good mood, she twisted her head out of Uncle Merlin’s hand to ruffle my hair with her snout.

“Amhar,” he greeted me. “Don’t distract my dragon! Aithusa, head back here now – I haven’t finished yet.”

He sounded very much like a parent, and Aithusa huffed at him like an annoyed child. It made me smile, but I had darker thoughts on my mind just now. I couldn’t talk to Father or Mother about them, because they were the ones who had let me come and they would regret it if they saw how much the battle had shaken me, and I didn’t regret coming, but I thought Uncle Merlin would understand.

“You were right about war,” I said abruptly.

He looked at me over the spines on Aithusa’s head. “About war?” he asked, not quite understanding me.

I stared at the grass around my feet. “That it’s horrible and should be avoided,” I whispered.

Uncle Merlin sighed, and Aithusa pressed her wing around me and tucked me against her side. For a moment there was no sound but the rasp of cloth on scales as Uncle Merlin finished cleaning a cut on her snout; then he sat down beside me, and Aithusa tucked us both under her wing.

“I wish you didn’t have to see war so young,” Uncle Merlin said quietly. “It’s terrible to witness all the pain and suffering.”

“You didn’t see war till you were older, did you?” I asked softly.

He chuckled a bit. “I grew up a farm boy out in the country,” he told me. “I knew bandits as a child, but never all-out fighting. Your father saw more than me, I think.”

“You’ll miss Rodney, won’t you?” I asked him quietly; he had been the first magic user Uncle Merlin had trained after the ban on magic had lifted and had stayed a good friend. I had never really known death before, except as something that happened when one was old and had lived a good life; I had never known young men cut down in the flower of their lives, middle-aged men dying when they should have lived to see the fruit of their labors. I would miss Rodney myself; he had always been a kind man and had been the first to show all of Camelot just how possible it was for a sorcerer to be an excellent knight after Mother had dared conventions and knighted him.

“Of course,” Uncle Merlin said tiredly. He leaned back against the dragon’s side, looking worn, small cuts standing out starkly red on his face. “He was a good friend. But he’ll be with his Lilyanna, and they’ll be happy.”

I knew from hints dropped in conversations of long ago that Lilyanna was the woman Rodney had loved, and that she had been killed because of the magic she had. Now I suddenly remembered the conversation on the way here about Freya, the woman Uncle Merlin had loved and lost, and noted the wistfulness in his voice when he spoke of Lilyanna and Rodney being together.

“You’ll be happy here, Uncle Merlin,” I protested, my voice breaking a bit; I drew closer, curling up against his side like I used to when I was a small boy.

He sat up and put his arm around me. “We’ll be alright, Amhar,” he said gently. “The threat is gone, and we’ll heal from the battle in time; we have before.”

But he didn’t make any move to get up, and I began to cry softly, trying not to let the images of the wounded and dead fill my head. Uncle Merlin held me and let me cry, and Aithusa curled her wing tightly around us, holding us against her warm side in a white cocoon, and we stayed there until I felt less shaky and was ready to face the world again.

* * *

True to their word, the Saxons appeared at evening to sign the treaty. Fifteen of them showed up, accompanying their new leader, but they weren’t marching in the perfect lockstep they had used when they brought the challenge. All the kings and queens of the eight kingdoms of Albion and the primary members of their courts stood in the royal tent of Camelot by the table on which the treaty to be signed. All of my beloved knights were there, of course, standing behind Mother, Father, Uncle Merlin, and me. Everyone present at the signing looked both relieved and worn; some of the Saxons even looked rather apologetic.

The signing itself was very simple. Father read the terms of the treaty aloud; then as the leader of Albion, he signed it.

The Saxon’s new leader stepped forward and followed his example. “We shall refrain from attacking you again,” he said formally when he had done so, as if to reinforce aloud what he had just signed his name to. Then he and his party turned and left.

The Saxon threat was over.

Father collapsed into a chair after all the other kings and queens had also retired to their camps. “Well, that was underwhelming,” he remarked.

“That must be a pity,” Uncle Merlin retorted. “To be called back from Avalon for an underwhelming task.”

“Merlin,” Father retorted, “I didn’t say the whole thing was underwhelming, just the conclusion. Or maybe you thought the battle which, might I remind you, took us a whole day to win, was child’s play?”

“I should hope not,” Uncle Gwaine inserted lightly. “I’d hate to see what a real battle would look like in that case.”

Uncle Merlin smiled, looking relieved. “The dragon told me that you would return when Albion’s need was greatest,” he said softly. “If this was Albion’s greatest need, then perhaps now we will have peace.”

“Peace would be very welcome,” Father agreed. Then his brain caught up with the rest of the sentence. “Wait, which dragon told you that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully the battle wasn't too much of a letdown after all the buildup to it; I was at a double disadvantage in that Amhar is only watching the battle, not in it, and that I've never really written an action scene like that before. But the Saxon threat is finally resolved!


	13. The Lady of the Lake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Albion is truly formed, and we learn the fate of a certain Lady.

While we had been working on the treaty, the armies had been preparing pyres at the base of the slope, stacking the wood and laying the bodies from the battle atop them. There came a night when every man living who wasn’t in the infirmaries or tending to those there gathered around the pyres as dusk fell. All eight armies and what was left of the Saxon army intermingled together around the long row of the dead.

There had been no discrimination in how the dead were laid out. The dead of the kingdoms of Albion lay amongst one another, and the Saxons were mixed in with them too. There was no separation of the magical from the nonmagical, either.

Stationed around the row of pyres were those who would light them. Some were soldiers holding torches; others were sorcerers, holding balls of flames in their hands.

Father and Uncle Merlin stood before the central pyre, Father holding a torch aloft, Uncle Merlin with flames flickering in his hands. There was no sign of his usual tension at using magic, however.

The two of them stepped forward and simultaneously lit the central pyre. All up and down the line, pyres burst into flames as the knights thrust their torches into the wood and the sorcerers caused the wood to ignite. Then we all stepped back and watched.

The flames danced upward toward the sky, bright against its darkness. There was no sound save the crackling of the fires and the soft weeping of those left. No one condemned anyone else for tear tracks on their cheeks glittering in the firelight; there was no separation between nations, enemies, or those with magic. We were all drawn closer together, and together we grieved those whose loss brought us together now.

In the stillness, one of the women healers began a soft chant of mourning, and one by one the few women who had come along – the queens and the healers – took up the chant. Their soft voices wove together with the flames in the night as we grieved the dead.

* * *

The Saxons left the day after the dead were laid to rest, but all the armies of Albion stayed on a few days thereafter, giving the wounded a chance to recover and the men a chance to rest before the long marches home. Father gathered all the kings and queens one night, and we had as much of a feast as could be had so far from home in celebration of winning the war.

He rose when the meal was done, lifting his goblet in his hand. “I wish to thank each of you for your presence,” he told the attentive group. “Without all of you, victory could not have been achieved. Together, we took on the Saxons, and together, we prevailed. I was honored to fight alongside each of you and each of your men, as we fought with courage and honor. We have preserved our homes, our kingdoms, and the people we serve.” He lifted his goblet. “To victory! And to Albion!”

The cry was echoed around the room as everyone drank the toast, but when Father sat down, Queen Annis arose unexpectedly. She stepped forward and looked at Father through piercing eyes.

“We kings and queens have been talking,” she said abruptly, “and we have come to the conclusion that we wish to stay in alliance, with you, King Arthur, as our High King.”

Father, I could tell, was having to struggle not to gape widely as Queen Annis went on. “You have led us well in war; we trust that you will lead us well in peace.” She lifted her goblet. “To Albion! And to Arthur! Long live the king!”

The whole room rose to their feet and echoed the cry. I noticed that there were some, like Queen Mithian, Queen Elena, and King Bayard, who shouted the words with complete sincerity in their faces; but even King Odin, King Lot, and King Alinor had respect, however grudging, in their eyes.

Father was still looking stunned. “I never expected the kingdoms to give me this power,” he remarked in an undertone, his words covered by the noise.

“You are the only one who could lead them, though,” Mother told him. Her eyes were shining with her absolute trust in him.

This development necessitated remaining where we were a while longer as new treaties were drawn up with all the kingdoms, giving the central authority to Father and Camelot.

“Do you think it was the prophecy that made all this happen?” Father asked Uncle Merlin over supper after the final treaty, with Cornwall, had been signed.

Mother quickly shook her head, but left it to Uncle Merlin to reply. “If by that you mean to ask if this is all contrived and will fall apart shortly, I don’t think so,” Merlin answered sincerely. “All the prophecy did was foresee this moment and predict it, and I doubt many of the kings have even heard of it. No, you earned this moment, Arthur. Their loyalty to you is real.”

“I’d never have had this moment if you hadn’t done all the work of getting the kingdoms to ally for war,” Father told Merlin. “I guess the prophecy was right about the Once and Future King needing Emrys to help him complete his destiny.”

Uncle Merlin stared at Father rather blankly. “You’ve been told that prophecy?”

“Freya explained it to me when I demanded to know why I could be sent back to live again,” Father explained. “Apparently as a druid it was common knowledge to her.”

He sounded rather hesitant to bring Freya up, but Uncle Merlin only looked pained for a moment. “Yes, the prophecies were known among the druids,” he admitted, looking as if his thoughts were elsewhere.

Father waited a moment before he added, “Now that the battle is fought and Albion is united, you have time to tell me all your secrets, Merlin.” There was a rather devious smile on his face. “I want to hear every minute detail – no leaving anything out this time.”

Uncle Merlin smiled just a bit at that, but it was the first half of what Father said that really seemed to sink in to him. “Albion united,” he whispered, and repeated it aloud. “Albion united! And magic is legal – I never believed it would happen. What am I to do with myself now?”

“Oh, I don’t know; there’s plenty of things to do,” Father quickly informed him. “Do magic? Help me protect Camelot? Just be Merlin? There has to be plenty you can do with your life besides getting some old prophecy fulfilled.”

Uncle Merlin laughed, but there were tears shining in his eyes, and he looked more at peace than I ever remembered seeing him.

* * *

We finally broke our camp on Caerleon’s border two days after that and began making our way back toward Camelot. The mood of the journey was much more lighthearted than the mood on the way out had been. Father rode near Uncle Merlin most of the time, and as he said he would, quizzed him on all the magical details of the past. He was obviously very curious and eager to learn, and was accepting of the narrative he was told; Uncle Merlin opened up with Father displaying this attitude and told him his magical tales freely. Unlike the coherent stories he had once told me, though, Uncle Merlin’s stories to Father were mostly reminding him of strange occurrences and filling in details, with plenty of teasing mixed in.

“What was the first time you saved me with magic?” Father asked, sitting comfortably in the saddle.

Uncle Merlin laughed a bit to himself. “The very first time I ever saved you was with magic,” he said frankly. “Your father had no idea he was rewarding me for using magic when he made me your servant.”

Father looked rather startled before laughing himself. “How did you do it?” he pressed.

“I made the chandelier drop on Mary Collins,” Uncle Merlin told him. “And I slowed time to get you out of the way of the knife.”

“You can slow time?” Father asked, sounding very incredulous.

Merlin’s thoughts were clearly elsewhere, however, as he just gave a brief nod in response. “That was the first time I ever killed,” he said softly after a moment.

Father looked rather torn. “I wish you hadn’t learned to kill for me,” he said earnestly.

Uncle Merlin nodded and shook himself out of that mood. “That wasn’t the first time I used magic around you, though,” he said lightly.

“Right, the mace fight,” Father said, smiling. “I used to wonder sometimes why I was so incompetent that day.”

“I wasn’t joking when I said I could take you apart in less than one blow,” Uncle Merlin reminded him.

“Luckily you didn’t try that,” Father commented. “So is it true that Sophia actually tried to drown me in Avalon?” Apparently he had seen one of our conversations about that in the past.

“Of course,” Uncle Merlin replied. “I’m not likely to have imagined how cold that lake is to swim in.”

“You seemed to imagine a fair few things,” Father reminded him cheerfully. “Knocked me out with a piece of wood? Really Merlin?”

“You prefer your mind being taken over and subsequent drowning?” Merlin retorted. “I’ll bear that in mind for the next time it happens, you clotpole.”

Sometimes this discussion got serious. “I wish I’d known Balinor was your father; maybe then I wouldn’t have been so insensitive in the way I tried to comfort you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell –”

“Merlin. Stop apologizing! I understand why you didn’t. I’m sorry for what I said, though.”

“You can stop apologizing for the things you said too, then. You didn’t know.”

And sometimes it was quite ridiculous. “I went on that quest _alone_ , remember, Merlin?”

“I can testify you didn’t,” Uncle Gwaine inserted.

“And if we hadn’t been there, the wyverns would have had their way with you,” Uncle Merlin told him.

“I would never have thought a girlish bracelet would have defeated me,” Father grumbled. “How much power do you have, anyway, Merlin? Most powerful sorcerer, dragonlord who can also defeat anything dragonish – next things next I’ll discover you can command rats and could have kept my chambers clear of them all that time.”

“When you find out how I can get that power, you can let me know,” Uncle Merlin told him cheerfully.

* * *

They were in the middle of one of these ridiculous conversation on the last day of our trip home; Camelot was close and we were all eager to get there.

“Was there ever any adventure we went on that you didn’t find it necessary to do magic on?”

“Of course not, sire; you always got yourself in situations where you needed me to save your sorry backside.”

“Merlin! I was not some damsel in distress waiting around to be saved! I will have you know that my skills and expertise were what got us out of tight corners far more than your magic tricks!”

“Of course, sire. Whatever you say, sire.”

“You’re mocking me now, aren’t you? You really think you were the hero of this whole tale?”

“Well, I can’t imagine who else the hero would be!”

We were coming up on the path that branched off toward Avalon when Uncle Merlin suddenly pulled his horse to a standstill.

“What is it?” Father asked, reining in his horse too, but as he followed the direction Merlin was looking – toward the path to Avalon – he drew in his breath sharply.

There was a woman standing there at the entrance to the path, a woman in a long purple and blue gown that made her look like a princess, her brown hair sweeping her shoulders. She seemed to simply be waiting.

By this time everyone was looking in that direction. “Is that –" Uncle Gwaine began, very uncertainly for him, but by that time Uncle Merlin had kicked his horse onward and was riding toward the woman as fast as the tired mare could carry him. The rest of us – the knights and royal family – followed him as swiftly as we could.

He had dismounted the moment he reached the girl, and the two were simply standing there, staring at each other, as if neither really believed the other was real.

“Freya?” Uncle Merlin breathed hesitantly, not even noticing the rest of us.

“Merlin,” she echoed, a shy smile lighting her face.

“Are you –” he began. “But how –”

“Your apprentice Rodney,” she whispered. “You told him about me. When he crossed to be with Lilyanna, he asked for his life to be exchanged with mine. Somehow,” she faltered, her breath catching, before she reached out her hand tentatively. “It worked. I – I could come back.”

Uncle Merlin was taking her in as though he thought she would disappear again and leave him with only this memory; slowly he reached out and took her hand in his. “You’re really here,” he whispered incredulously.

Her smile was bright. “I’m really here,” she told him.

They were still watching each other as if neither really believed this was happening, the touch of their hands the only thing connecting them. The rest of us watched them, giving them this moment.

“Was what we had real?” Merlin whispered at last, his voice anguished as if he had thought about this often over the years. “Or was it all because we were both young and desperate and alone?”

Freya looked up into his eyes, and her smile was sweet, shy, and rather sad all at once. “Have you stopped thinking of me since?” she whispered.

“Never!” he exclaimed, shaking his head quickly.

“I’ve never stopped thinking of you either,” she murmured. “I never could.”

I think Uncle Merlin got her point at that moment, for he swept her into his arms, whispering her name; she wrapped her arms closely around him, and they clung to each other tightly.

I had to look away, for this moment felt as if it was the culmination of years of waiting which neither had ever really expected to end, a faint and fragile hope suddenly becoming reality. Even Uncle Gwaine, whom I would have expected to tease, stayed silent and pensive.

When they drew apart, Uncle Merlin took Freya’s hands and held them tightly in his; he was smiling in a specially bright way I never remembered seeing from him before. Freya was looking into his eyes with a wide smile of her own, and neither of them seemed to feel the need to say anything for a long moment.

Then Uncle Leon’s horse stamped sharply, and they both seemed to realize they had an audience and turned to face us, still both smiling in the way I tended to associate with married couples, even if there were still old shadows of pain in their eyes.

“So this is Freya?” Mother asked, slipping off her horse and holding out a hand to Freya. She took it rather shyly, but Mother pulled her into a quick hug.

“It’s good to get to meet you,” she told the younger girl earnestly.

We had all dismounted by now, and Lancelot followed Mother up to Freya. “I’m so glad you’re able to come back,” he said in his earnest way, clasping her hand for a moment and making me remember that he would have spent the longest in the lake with her.

Uncle Gwaine walked up to her after him. “Maybe you can help bring some life to our friend here,” he said, punching Merlin teasingly in the arm, but his face showed his sincerity.

Uncle Elyan and Father also congratulated her on her return to life, and Uncle Merlin introduced her to Uncle Leon and Uncle Percival. By this time Freya looked rather overwhelmed, but Uncle Merlin beckoned me forward too.

“And this is Amhar,” he told her, a distinct note of pride in his voice.

She smiled and reached out to touch my shoulder for a moment. “It’s nice to know you’re real after watching you grow up from the lake,” she told me softly.

Father nudged Uncle Merlin in the shoulder. “If you’re wondering what to do with yourself now that Albion is united, I think you have your answer,” he said, a teasing light in his eyes. When Uncle Merlin glanced at him, frowning, he added, “Get married, of course!”

Merlin turned rather red. “Shut up, Arthur,” he muttered, but he was smiling.

“That’s my line!” Father reminded him quickly.

Presently we all began remounting the horses to get back to Camelot, as the army which had been following us from a bit of a distance started catching up. The knights who had known Freya in the lake and Father seemed unequivocally happy to see her return, but for the rest of us it was a little strange to see the girl Uncle Merlin had loved, lost, and could never bear to talk about in the flesh. I was glad a thousand times over that she had come, though, if just to bring that look of joy to Uncle Merlin’s face.

I was nearest them as Uncle Merlin lifted Freya onto his horse so they could ride together, and I heard him ask her in an undertone, “The bastet – is it—”

“It’s gone,” she told him. “That curse ended with my death.”

He was beaming at her as he swung up onto his horse. “Then I can really look after you this time,” he said determinedly.

* * *

We came back to Camelot in the late afternoon, but we had clearly been sighted long before we returned, because the whole city was in the streets when we rode in. Wild cheering and chants of “Long live the king!” accompanied us as we rode through the city. I spotted Anna and Galahad pressing to the front of the throng, Anna clapping so hard her hands were nearly a blur, and we shared smiles before I rode on.

When we reached Camelot, Leon and Percival’s wives were in the courtyard waiting for them, along with nearly everyone who worked or lived in the castle, and they all cheered our homecoming eagerly. The threat of the Saxons had passed, and everyone in Camelot felt the relief.

For myself, though, I really wanted nothing more than to go to sleep in my own bed, in safety, and not wake up for a long, long time.

* * *

I had never in my life seen Uncle Merlin try to woo a woman, but after we came back with Freya, the two of them were almost continually in each other’s company, which felt very strange to me to begin with. The day after we got back, Uncle Merlin took Freya on a tour of the whole city of Camelot.

Father watched wistfully from a window as they walked hand in hand through the lower town. “They don’t have to hide anymore,” he commented to Mother. I realized that this explained the triumphant joy in Uncle Merlin’s face that day – it was at finally being able to show her all of Camelot, his home, without fear.

Freya was a sweet, shy woman. She never seemed comfortable around people, with the possible exceptions of the knights who had been in the lake with her, and if she was in a room with people she didn’t know and Uncle Merlin wasn’t there, she would become very tense and quiet. But around Uncle Merlin she expanded like a flower in sunshine, bright-eyed and smiling; he was the only one who was able to make her laugh.

Uncle Merlin clearly adored her, and he had a smile reserved just for her. With her back, he was lighthearted in a way I had never seen in him, and he used magic around her as freely as breathing.

There was one afternoon when I heard humming coming toward me from someone walking down the hallway. That in and of itself wasn’t unusual; I’d heard plenty of people humming while going about their duties in Camelot. But when Uncle Merlin strode around the corner, head in the clouds and humming cheerfully under his breath, and passed me without even noticing me, I made up my mind. Being in love made people crazy.

One morning, I woke up earlier than usual, before the sun was up, and decided to go watch the sunrise from the turrets before going to breakfast with my parents; if you wake up in time, there is no better place to watch the sunrise in Camelot than from the turrets. When I got there, panting and out of breath, I found that somebody had already stolen my idea. Uncle Merlin and Freya were standing shoulder to shoulder against the parapet, his jacket around her shoulders. Not wanting to interrupt them, but not wanting to leave either, I hung back in the shadows and watched as the sky in the east turned gold.

They were standing still, watching too, as the clouds turned to ribbons of pink. Then Uncle Merlin cupped his hands and whispered something magical I couldn’t make out at all. He turned and handed Freya a small red strawberry.

“You remembered,” she murmured, taking it with a smile.

“Of course,” he told her.

“It’s not a rose this time,” she commented.

“I learned to make strawberries,” Merlin answered. “There was a time I thought I’d go crazy if I couldn’t do that at least.” But he cupped his hands again and made a small red rose, which he presented to her with a little bow. She tucked it into her hair over one ear.

“It’s the right color,” Freya said, smiling as she turned to watch the sunrise again.

His eyes bright, Merlin cupped his hands to make a second strawberry, and they ate the strawberries quietly together.

“Will you be happy here?” he asked her suddenly. “It’s not what we dreamed, and there will always be crowds here.”

“It’s not a couple of cows,” Freya said dreamily.

“Mountains and a lake and wildflowers,” Merlin echoed. “Though you can find wildflowers if you go a little ways out of the city. Goodness knows I had to pick them for Gaius often enough.”

“A few fields,” Freya finished. There was a moment’s silence before she added, “It wasn’t for the scenery that I was willing to try making a life, Merlin. It was you.”

“You were the reason I was thinking of leaving,” he answered quietly.

She turned to look up at his face, framed dark against the brightness of the coming day. “I’d be willing to stay just about anywhere if you were there,” she told Uncle Merlin earnestly. “I’ll be happy here with you.”

“I’d be happy anywhere with you,” he answered fervently. “But I can’t really leave this place now.”

“Of course not,” she said. “It’s your home. So I’ll stay and we’ll make a home here together. If that’s what you want,” she added quickly.

“I want that more than anything,” he said wistfully.

Even against the light, I could tell she smiled. “There’s no curse in the way now,” she whispered.

“So we make our new life here in Camelot?” he asked her, voice low and tender.

She bent her head and nodded, drawing closer to him. He took her hands tightly in his and bent to kiss her.

It was the first time I had ever seen them kiss. I stared for a moment, mesmerized, at their silhouettes, dark against the sharp brightness of the coming dawn, gently kissing each other; then I came to myself and scurried back into the stairwell. It was one thing to watch my parents kiss; it was quite another to watch Uncle Merlin do it.

I did wonder, though, as I pattered rapidly down the stairs, if that conversation was Uncle Merlin’s way of proposing. If that was the case, I supposed it was time I started calling his lady Aunt Freya.


	14. A Land of Myth and a Time of Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we catch a glimpse of Camelot restored.

“Why did I ever agree to do this?” Father asked dismally.

We were standing in the courtyard of the castle, Father, Uncle Merlin, and I, with a much too excited Aithusa prancing in front of us. Father was about to take his promised dragon flight.

“Trust me, she’s perfectly safe,” Uncle Merlin told him; he had grown much less worried about letting people fly on his dragon after taking countless flights with me. “She’s pretty indignant that you’re so worried, actually.”

“I just don’t think being that far up in the sky with not even a saddle is a good idea,” Father protested.

Aithusa stopped her pacing to shoot Father a very fierce glare, and also a tiny flicker of flame. “She didn’t like that comment at all,” Uncle Merlin translated, looking as if he was trying very hard not to laugh at whatever Aithusa had just communicated to him.

“Yes, I got that, you idiot!” Father retorted, exasperated. “I’m not entirely clueless, you know!”

“Are you sure about that?” Merlin asked lightly, but when Father gave him a very fierce glare he laughed. “Alright, alright. She’s perfectly safe to ride, Arthur; she says the only way you could fall off her is if you were enough of a dollophead to throw yourself off her back, and she’d catch you even if you did that. She said that, not me!” he added quickly.

“And who taught her that dollophead was a word?” Father demanded suspiciously.

“It’s idiomatic,” Uncle Merlin said in a tone that indicated Father should already know this.

“If you’re the one who defines what idiomatic means, maybe,” Father grumbled.

I could never remember seeing Uncle Merlin so lighthearted before Father came back, and when Aunt Freya crossed the edge of the courtyard and Uncle Merlin didn’t even bother replying to Father because he was too busy smiling at her, I thought for the thousandth time how much more of a home Camelot had become since everyone had come back.

“Aithusa is perfectly safe,” I reminded Father. “I’ve flown her more times than I can count, and I’m still alive.”

Father looked at me, and capitulated. “How do I mount?” he asked, looking at Aithusa’s wings and spines and frowning.

It took the joint efforts of me, Uncle Merlin, and Aithusa to get Father into a place where he actually thought he might not fall off; then Uncle Merlin helped me clamber up and get comfortable in front of Father. He wrapped his arm around my waist like Uncle Merlin always did when I flew with him, except it was a much more muscular arm – and it was also trembling just the slightest bit with nervousness.

Uncle Merlin stepped back, grinning his full, bright smile. “Have a good flight!” he said cheerfully.

“Wait, you’re not coming with us?” I asked, feeling rather blank. I had never in my life flown without Uncle Merlin.

“You’ve flown often enough,” he told me. “I trust you and Aithusa to initiate Arthur to the delights of the sky. Off you go!”

“Wait—” Father began, but Aithusa had already lifted off the castle courtyard. Father gave a most unmanly yelp as we began to get airborne, but I didn’t comment because those first few moments of flight, when the dragon’s wings are going up and down by your ears and the whole world is bouncing up and down and one moment you feel like you’ll sail off into space and the next you’re slamming into the dragon’s back are rather terrifying. But then Aithusa cleared the courtyard, got away from the castle, and we were truly flying.

She went very mildly at first, giving Father a gentle, safe ride. “I admit it,” Father commented after a few minutes, his voice rumbling against my back. “This is actually rather brilliant. The view –” he trailed off, but I understood. Watching the kingdom sweep away beneath us as the dragon flew was a very unique feeling.

“We can go a lot faster,” I offered, a very obvious hint in my tone.

Father tensed a bit, but he was never a man to back down from a challenge. “Why not,” he agreed. “Do your worst, Aithusa.”

That was a very bad choice of wording, because with Aithusa in the playful mood she was in she took it very literally and took us on the wildest ride even I had ever taken. She soared up into the clouds, drenching us both by flying right through the middle of a very large one – then swooped straight down, making me feel as though I’d left my stomach behind, to skim the grass with her wingtips – only to shoot straight up into the sky again at full speed, wings beating wildly in our ears.

I was whooping with delight most of the time, but I think Father’s shouts had more panic than delight in them.

He was panting by the time Aithusa leveled out and began skimming along again, just above the treetops. “Well!” he exclaimed, and his voice cracked sharply. He cleared his throat. “Well,” he began again, “at least I think I trust that we’re not falling off after all that.”

Even though I didn’t have nearly the bond with Aithusa that Uncle Merlin did, I could feel the smug contentment radiating off her at that moment.

* * *

“You didn’t tell me your dragon was a daredevil,” Father accused Uncle Merlin, when we dismounted back in Camelot.

Uncle Merlin groaned and shook his head at Aithusa. “You were showing off, weren’t you?” he scolded her. Aithusa only tossed her head saucily.

“You see?” Uncle Merlin said to Father. “I don’t control her. If she decided to show off to you, that was all her. Nothing to do with me. Nothing whatsoever!” he protested quickly, when Father gave him a hard look.

Father sighed. “Well, I do have to agree with Amhar that when Aithusa is actually behaving, flying is quite enjoyable,” he admitted, making me beam.

“I told you so,” I told him, grinning.

“I hope you didn’t completely wear yourself out,” Uncle Merlin said to Aithusa, “because I might have promised Freya to show her what this dragon flying was all about this afternoon.”

Aithusa gave him a look which clearly indicated what she thought of the unfathomable idea that she might be too tired, and communicated something to Uncle Merlin that made him blush deeply.

“No more comments on relationships, Aithusa,” he informed her sternly.

Father looked like he was going to ask what the dragon had said, but Freya came into the courtyard at that moment, and Father and I instantly lost any chance of getting Uncle Merlin’s attention.

“Are you ready?” he asked, going toward her as she came down the steps.

She was knotting a shawl around her shoulders and looking entirely eager and not really nervous at all. “Very,” she told Merlin softly, taking the hand he offered.

Father stood with me and watched as he helped her onto the dragon and gave Aithusa a list of directions and warnings rivaling the one he had given her before he let me fly. When they finally took off and sailed over the walls, Father chuckled.

“I never thought I’d see Merlin in love,” he commented approvingly. “Don’t look for them to come back for a long time, though.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“When I was courting your mother, I would take advantage of every moment I could take to be with just her,” Father told me. “I doubt it’s any different for these two lovebirds.”

* * *

But despite how satisfying the flight with Father had been and the joy of having him agree with me that dragon flights were wonderful, there was something empty in me for the rest of the day. Dragon flying had always been something Uncle Merlin and I shared together, but this day we had both flown with someone else, and I felt unsettled.

When Uncle Merlin got back – much later, as Father had predicted – I followed him and Aunt Freya until they finally finished saying sweet nothings to each other and parted until the swiftly approaching suppertime; then I ran to catch up to Uncle Merlin, who was humming again.

“What is it, Dragon?” he asked when he finally noticed me.

I felt suddenly shy. “Take me for a dragon flight?” I whispered.

He raised his eyebrows. “You’ve already had one with your father, and an exciting one if Arthur is to be believed,” he said.

“But it wasn’t with you,” I told him, staring at my shoes.

I wasn’t at all sure he would understand the reason I was asking this when I couldn’t even articulate it to myself, but after a moment of thought he put his hand on my shoulder and led me back toward the courtyard with him. “Then we’ll take a quick turn around the castle before supper,” he said.

Five minutes later, wheeling placidly on a satisfied Aithusa around the castle’s turrets, describing her stunt in the afternoon and Father’s reactions to a laughing Uncle Merlin, I felt as though all was right with the world again.

* * *

There was a tremendous amount of paperwork and council meetings to be done in Camelot around this time, between Father taking back the reins of the kingdom and the ironing out of all the alliances with the kingdoms in Albion, so the hunting trip we had planned to take while marching to Caerleon was postponed for a while. We did have a feast, however, in celebration of the victory over the Saxons; every man who had fought in Camelot’s army and survived, along with his family, was invited to it, so the feast spilled from the Great Hall into other nearby rooms in the castle. Father agreed to give all the castle staff two days off afterwards in compensation for working so hard to make the feast possible.

It was the first feast in Camelot where both my parents were there, Mother at Father’s right hand and me next to Mother; the first feast where Father gave the speech instead of Mother. He thanked all the men there for their bravery, courage, and honor in fighting to keep our homeland safe.

Then he turned to Uncle Merlin. “Without the aid of magic, the victory could never have been won,” he stated. “Without the magic users in our ranks and the dragon Aithusa, we would have lost to the Saxons’ sorcerers. In addition to thanking all of you, I wish to especially thank all the magic users who aided us, and my Court Sorcerer Merlin, for their help.”

Uncle Merlin smiled at Father; then he stood up as well. “To honor each of you,” he said simply, and let his eyes flash gold as he murmured a spell.

A cloth which had been covering a mound of something behind him slid aside, revealing a pile of hundreds of small metal pendants. Under Merlin’s direction, the pendants lifted and flew forward, skimming through the air until one lay by the plate of each man who had fought, moving through the air with the precision and beauty I had come to expect of Uncle Merlin’s magic. When every man had a pendant, Uncle Merlin said another spell, his eyes flashed gold, and every one of the pendants reshaped itself into the form of the Pendragon crest.

It was an impressive display of magic, but not entirely surprising to me after watching Uncle Merlin perform magic all my life. What did take me by surprise, though, was what I noticed about Uncle Merlin.

Unlike every other time, at least until the recent battle, that I had seen him cast magic in front of a large group of people, he wasn’t tense or on edge, neither was he even bothering to try hiding the gold in his eyes. He seemed relaxed and content, even happy, displaying his magic to a tremendous throng of people.

Standing at Father’s left hand, with Freya on his other side watching this display with a pleased, shy smile on her face, Uncle Merlin had finally become free of his fear of showing his magic. He was free at last of Uther’s legacy of terror.

I found that there were tears in my eyes as I joined in the clapping.

* * *

We did find time to go on the hunting trip at last, when the kingdom was stable enough that the royal family, the court sorcerer, and all the knights of the Original Round Table along with their families could disappear into the forest for a week without worrying about something going wrong in our absence. We spent a wonderful week out in the woods; we set up camp and the women and children stayed there or went on short hikes while at least some of the men hunted during the day. Father gave me my first real hunting lessons; Uncle Merlin told me that I was not allowed to ever crave hunting like my father did; Mother was no use as to which side of the debate I should follow. Uncle Merlin flatly refused to go on the hunting expeditions, more as a matter of proving a point than anything, I think, until Father all but bodily dragged him along on one. Given his wide smile, however, I didn’t think he really minded being made to come, and even gave me a few tips on tracking himself.

“I paid more attention than you thought,” he told Father when he looked completely shocked at this turn of events.

“You never will stop surprising me, will you?” Father returned, shaking his head.

Uncle Leon’s wife and his five children had come along; Kay came along on the hunting trips when I did, and the two of us had way too much fun and probably scared away far more animals than we actually caught. Uncle Percival had also brought his wife, his three daughters who were all around my age, and his very young son. Freya, who was planning her wedding with the other women most of the time, kept all the young girls in her tent with her, and I often felt as though they giggled half the night away. Aunt Freya was not as shy around children, and as she was growing comfortable with everyone on this expedition, she was more open during the trip than I’d seen her in Camelot.

On the second to last night of our trip, the Original Round Table, plus Freya and me, gathered around the fire after the others had gone to bed. We sat there in quiet contentment for a bit, watching the flames; Uncle Merlin was idly making dragons of different shapes in the sparks flying from the fire.

As usual, it was Uncle Gwaine who broke the silence with a rather unexpected comment.

“People are getting used to me being back,” he lamented. “There’s hardly anyone I can scare with it anymore.”

“I should hope that beats spending years in a puddle in limbo,” Uncle Lancelot retorted. He was smiling, but there was a bit of an edge to his voice, and I remembered that he had spent longer than anyone else (except Freya) in that spot.

Gwaine clearly heard it too, for he sat forward, his smile becoming determined instead of mocking, and raised his mug. “To life!” he exclaimed.

And we toasted to life, sitting there among those who had been dead and weren’t and those who had been deeply affected by their deaths. It had taken those of us who had always been alive quite a while to get used to a new world where the sorrow and pain of the losses of these friends wasn’t a continual silent backdrop to every day, just as it had taken those who had once been dead a while to adjust to being alive again, but as we all clinked mugs and drank to life, I thought that we were well on our way to being whole again.

“Tell us another story about magic,” Father requested of Uncle Merlin, settling back comfortably against a log. We all knew he meant about what magic had been used in the past that he wasn’t aware of.

“You’re as bad as Amhar about asking for stories,” Uncle Merlin observed, smiling, one arm tucking Freya against his side.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Father replied proudly, squeezing my shoulder and making me feel warm as I always did when he spoke of me in that proud way.

“Tell a story with all of us in it,” Uncle Elyan suggested, leaning forward. “There must be some of those.”

“A story with plenty of danger,” Uncle Gwaine ordered, eyes twinkling.

“Don’t all the stories have plenty of that?” Uncle Merlin asked, laughing. “I’ll tell the story of when we retook the citadel from Morgana – the first time.” He said her name more easily than he had in the past, as if finally finding perfect happiness had enabled him to move past the guilt that used to always be there when he spoke of her.

“That was the first adventure that involved all of us, wasn’t it?” Uncle Lancelot said thoughtfully, though he looked quite eager for the story.

“Everyone here was involved, except you, Amhar,” Uncle Merlin told us. “You were just a twinkle in your parent’s eyes then. You were in it too, dear,” he added to Freya.

“Freya was involved?” Uncle Percival asked, eyes widening a bit.

“Certainly,” Uncle Merlin answered. He sat up a little straighter in preparation of telling the story, drawing Freya with him. “It all began with the Cup of Life and the reason you’re here today, Leon,” he began.

And with that, Uncle Merlin carried us away on a story I had heard bits and pieces of since I was old enough to hear stories at all. But it was a very different thing to hear it now, resting against my father’s side instead of clinging to every mention of him in the story as I tried to piece together who he had been, all the key players sitting around the fire listening too, instead of half of them being dead. And there was no shadow in Uncle Merlin’s eyes now, no pain of half-wishing he could go back to that happier past.

It was different to hear the story sitting around the fire with all those the story had once been dedicated to remembering, together again at last. Different – but infinitely better.


	15. Epilogue: Once and Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which this story concludes (but the real story has only just begun).

I know my father now.

I know him as a great king, and also as the man who always has time for me no matter how busy he is. I also have the Knights of the Original Round Table, all of whom are uncles to me in their various ways. I have Mother, who still loves me and keeps me close to her; we have never stopped our weekly trips to the lower town although we do take Father along more often than not now. And I still have Uncle Merlin, who will always be something of a father to me.

And then there is Aunt Freya, who has taken me under her wing in her own quiet way as well. She and Uncle Merlin got married just after we got back from our trip away from Camelot. Though they could have had a big marriage in the Great Hall, they chose to have it out in a beautiful clearing in the woods instead, surrounded by wildflowers, some of which Freya had picked and Mother had braided through her hair. It was a quiet, simple ceremony, with only the people Merlin and Freya loved and trusted there, including Gaius and Hunith, who couldn’t have looked happier or more proud if they had tried. Afterwards the married couples danced half the night away in the moonlit silvan dell; Father and Mother clasped each other close, looking young and in love, and I had never seen Uncle Merlin and Aunt Freya happier. Uncle Merlin and Aunt Freya fit together so well that there have been days since their wedding when I’ve wondered how I ever thought Merlin could be complete without Freya.

* * *

Eleven months after Father’s return to Camelot, I was woken unnaturally early in the morning by Uncle Merlin. “Come on, Amhar,” he whispered, shaking my shoulder. “You need to wake up.”

“Mmph, let me sleep,” I slurred, rolling over.

“You’re nearly as hard to wake as Arthur,” Uncle Merlin pointed out. The next moment I was sopping wet and the bucket containing water for me to freshen up with in the morning was floating innocently back to its corner.

“Uncle Merlin!” I protested indignantly, jumping upright.

He chuckled and dried me off with a flash of his eyes; he looked both exhausted and very happy as he motioned to the door. “Come on,” he told me impatiently. “Your mother’s time has come.”

That made me spring out of bed with no hesitation. “Why didn’t you call me sooner?” I demanded eagerly, despite the fact that he had probably come as soon as he could. “Do I have a little brother or a sister?” I went on without waiting for a response.

Uncle Merlin laughed as he followed my hasty rush from the room. “I’ve no idea,” he told me. “Arthur’s been keeping that a secret from all of us until you see your little sibling.”

Laughing, I took off at a run, making him hurry to keep up with me. I had known Mother was pregnant for a good while now, and lately the whole castle had been abuzz with expectations for the child’s birth. Having always thought I'd be an only child, I was more than ready to meet my new sibling.

When we reached the hallway outside my parent’s room, which had been my father’s deserted room once upon a time, there was a jam of people in the hallway; all the knights had shown up. “Amhar!” Uncle Gwaine shouted cheerfully. “Just the man we want! Now after you go in, Arthur can finally tell us whether he has a daughter or another son, and we can all finally go back to bed. Hurry up!”

I laughed at him as Uncle Merlin shepherded me up to the door. He knocked on it, calling softly, “Arthur! Amhar’s here!”

Father opened the door a moment later, a wide, goofy grin on his face. “Come on, Amhar,” he said, drawing me into the room; Uncle Merlin dropped back to wrap an arm around Aunt Freya, who was waiting there too. I watched the way his other hand rested on her stomach for a moment; they had said nothing yet, but I had overheard Mother commenting to Father the other day that she wondered if Freya was newly pregnant too.

Then Father shut the door and led me up to the bed. Mother was resting on it, pale but watching the bundle in her arms with a beautiful smile. All at once I felt terribly shy, but Father’s hand on my shoulder propelled me forward.

Mother looked up at me and gave me a smile. “Come meet your sister, Amhar,” she told me.

I crept up to her side and looked down at the bundle she held in her arms. A downy head and eyes closed in peaceful sleep were all I could see around the blankets. Tentatively I reached out and touched the soft skin of her forehead. “My sister,” I whispered, feeling awed.

“Cerelia,” Father told me softly. “That’s her name.” He squeezed my shoulder and looked down at his daughter with a smile. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she, Amhar?” he asked.

But he was looking at me, not my sister, and I can tell he was proud and happy to have us both; I grinned and nodded.

“Do you want to hold her?” Mother asked, glancing at the bed beside her in an invitation to sit down with her.

I felt rather shy of doing that too, as if I would break the fragile little girl if I touched her, but Mother's voice was inviting and Father nudged me toward the bed. "She won't break if you hold her," he told me, sounding highly amused, "or at least that's what Alice tells me."

With that encouragement I scrambled up to sit on the far side of Mother. Father, meanwhile, went to the door and poked his head around.

“We have a daughter,” he announced proudly. “Her name is Cerelia.”

A ruckus of cheering promptly emerged from the hallway. “Stop!” Father hissed indignantly. “She’s asleep!”

Silence immediately fell, broken by sincere congratulations. Father thanked them warmly, then added, “You can see my daughter once she and her mother have had a chance to sleep for a while. Thank you very much!” Then he shut the door and came back to us.

Mother, who was laughing a bit at Father’s rather overprotective ways, was shifting Cerelia into my arms. Father came and got onto the bed with us, wrapping an arm around me and putting a hand on Mother’s shoulder, and we were curled up together there, the four of us in our family. Mother began drifting off to sleep.

I cradled my little sister in my arms, feeling her warmth against me and watching her perfect little face, and I resolved to be the best big brother in the world to her, like Galahad is to Anna, or Uncle Elyan and Uncle Merlin are to Mother.

It occurred to me as I sat there in the circle of my father’s arm that Cerelia will never know what it is like to grow up not knowing her father. She will never know Uncle Merlin’s bitter half-smile as his habitual one, or know about the bad time of year when everyone in the castle mourns the absent king. She will never catch Mother standing against the turrets with tears running down her face when she thinks she’s alone.

On the other hand, my little sister will never know the warmth that enveloped me when I actually coaxed a rare real smile out of Uncle Merlin, never know him as a father like I did - still do - even if he will always be a part of our family. She will never know what it is like for Mother to wrap one in her arms and hold on tight, like you are the only thing in the world that matters, because she is the only family Mother has left. She will never remember the day when Father came home as a powerful, returning king, see him sweep his wife into his arms, hug his best friend. She will never find out on that day that a father’s hugs are the best things in the whole world.

And we will both know the future, Cerelia and I; we will both know Father’s hugs that make one feel that nothing can go wrong in the world and Mother’s tender love; we will share the embarrassment of watching them act like fools in love when they think they’re alone and forget we are in the room with them. We will both know Uncle Merlin’s wide, happy smiles as the expression his face wears more often than not, watch his sweet love for Aunt Freya. And we will both know all the knights we will call Uncle together; we will know Leon’s loyalty, Percival’s wisdom, Lancelot’s nobility, Elyan’s straightforwardness, Gwaine’s humor and sensitivity.

All in all, I’m pleased and proud to be Amhar, son of the Once and Future King.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to read and especially to those who left kudos or a comment -- it means a lot to me! This isn't the last thing I've written in this world (as a matter of fact I'm currently writing more), so one-shots in this series will probably be showing up through this summer, so if you liked this story, there will be more coming soon. :)  
> I've very much loved getting to explore Amhar's world and making up an ending that is now my headcanon for what happened after the Merlin show ended, where everyone can finally be happy. Thank you to everyone who came on this journey with me!


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